Gavin Huang

First I wanted to be a firefighter, not because I wanted to help people, though. I just wanted to carry the axe. Then I discovered Legos and wanted to be an architect. I wanted to be able to build something huge, something long-lasting and meaningful. I built models of skyscrapers, fancy houses, and complex robots. At some point, I even constructed a Mars space station and beamed when my parents complimented me in their high-pitched playful voices.

I haven't written on this blog for over two weeks because I was doing what a true journalist is supposed to do: listen. I listened for two weeks at what my gay friend had to say about his life. No, not about his homosexuality. It turns out not even the gay people themselves can explain it. He instead talked to me about his family problems. I'm not going to reveal his name because he didn't even want me to write about him. Instead, he wanted me to refer to him as Kyle, though I'd much rather not use that name either.

See the header up there? For those who were too young to remember, the Twin Towers would have soared up right next to the Brooklyn Bridge.

Like former Republican presidential candidate Rudy Giuliani, I couldn't forget where I was on September 11, 2001. I was watching it all unfold and collapse from my elementary school window in Chinatown.

The '90s were a great time for TV. "That '70s Show" was the big thing, "American Idol" didn't exist, "The Simpsons" didn't suck yet, Jerry Seinfeld wasn't working for Microsoft, and best of all, "Pokemon" was still on at 4 p.m. on weekday afternoons.

Fast-forward a moment to 2008. I came home today empty-handed with no homework (I can hear you being jealous). So I did what every lazy American does when he's not obligated to do any work and turned on the TV. After flipping through the channels, I was disappointed to find the only things worth watching were cancelled reruns of "Yes, Dear," and it wasn't even that funny of a show to begin with. My other choices were "Arthur" and "Dragon Tales."

And I thought to myself, "What is this?" Broadcast television used to be at the mercy of children on weekday afternoons. I remember sneaking upstairs to my parents' room when I was five to watch the latest episode of "Batman and Robin" instead of doing my homework. Now I can only get dragons prancing with children in fantasy lands filled with talking ladybugs and Judge Judy (which are both pretty much the same thing). Whatever happened to good afternoon TV?

I wanted to wear white after Labor Day just to be a fashion rogue. Yes, it was a little pathetic. I had no other mission than to stick it to Miss Manners, but I did start another Labor Day tradition with a more respectable purpose.

I should say Labor Night tradition, though, because I spent most of my Labor Day laboring (and I did not want that to become an end-of-vacation tradition). After spending the summer writing for journalism programs and volunteering and after an entire day of preparing for school and regretting not finding better ways to spend my last day of summer, I was ready to fall back on a sofa and turn on my old friends Jay Leno and Conan O'Brien.

When Carson Daly turned on, I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV (Daly is not funny). I was a little tired, so I reached for my Sansa MP3 player, turned on some music, and moved around a little until I felt comfortable.

And then started my Labor Day tradition: spending that last precious night of summer not sleeping but looking back at everything I had done this summer to the playlist of all the music I had discovered.