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Article: Quadball Podcasts and Being a Better Person (Or At Least Trying To): A Reflection on the First Year of The Small Hoop

The Small Hoop is the pet project of myself, and my friends Brandy Gomez and Nicodemus Robles. The name “The Small Hoop” actually has its origins with Maya Hinebaugh, a Texas State Alum, who thought about doing a podcast with that name. When we were envisioning what the show would be about, we quickly decided “The Small Hoop” was symbolic of the underdog, the little guy, the counterculture of Quadball. When I made the choice to start the show, it was just me and Nico. To give some context, I had been fired from my job that provided my housing and meal plan. Suffice to say, it was the lowest I had ever felt. Which proves a theory I have that if someone starts a podcast, it means they are at a terrible point in their life and should not be allowed to purchase a microphone. The format of the show is something that Nico and I had many disagreements on throughout its run. When we started we only knew that we wanted video, because no one else had video, and that we wanted to do interviews. A...
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Commentary: My documentary, "we do not care"

 Hello! It's been some time. As I've been reflecting on this past year, a big dissapointment is that I haven't written anything new for this blog. My creative energy lately has been largely exhausted by the demands of regular life and academics. I have managed to create something this year, though. In March of 2022, I began working for Texas State's housing department as a Resident Assistant. I was a midyear hire, so it took me a while to adapt to the lifestyle and culture that surrounds this uniquely demanding job (much more demanding than I relized when I took it.) Part of this job was mandatory trainings for three weeks before the start of the fall semester. Now, the housing department had just undergone a massive change in management, and, to commemorate the change they decided to implement a new "tradition" to RA training... a lip-sync battle. This documentary follows my staff of RA's as we prepare to perform a lip-sync in the epic finale of RA traini...
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Short Story: Imaginary

The sound of beer bottles shattering upon impact with the floor was a sound I was very familiar with. It let me know that it was that time of day where I should pretend to be asleep. I didn’t take the risk of having the TV on at a low volume or listening to music through headphones. So, it was just myself and the dark, silent void I called my bedroom. Like most children however, I was afraid of the dark. Luckily, I knew I could always have my closet door cracked open ever so slightly. He lived in the small sliver of light that escaped from the closet. We were able to have long conversations without me having to utter a single word out loud. I’d tell him about my day, confide secrets, admit regrets, and he’d do the same back to me. I almost couldn’t believe he had problems of his own, his life seemed so great. He was an adventurer. He explored the world and met amazing people. He seemed so strong, like nothing could stop him from doing what he wanted. He certainly wouldn’t be stopped by...
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Short Story: Perfect, For Now

My workbench was messy and cluttered, but if a passerby were to examine it they’d probably think it was unorganized in such a way that I could precisely pinpoint exactly where every single screw and circuit board was. This was not the case. In fact my work process is disastrously inefficient and wasteful. This computer, however, won’t be. I’ve wasted so many resources on developing imperfect models, and even now I’m still trying to engineer something more advanced. Something that exceeds the standards of commercial computing as we know it today. I don’t want to appeal to every spoiled, Cheeto-dust-fingered brat who’s begging for their mommy’s credit card to play the same asinine, mind numbing game about a benevolent hero crusading about, between poorly written and poorly animated cutscenes. I want to be thanked for propelling technology and therefore society years into the future in ways no one could have predicted. I was surprised to see my son looking through the door to the garage, ...
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Short Story: The Well

At the bottom of a well, I was scared. It was dark. I cried out for help. I needed someone to pull me out of this prison of woe, a cavern of despair. A hand reached out, like a righteous savior, who would always be there for me. It was you. When we were dating, I always told her about that recurring dream I had. I knew it was her hand in the dream. She was perfect, like a sunrise in human form. Soon I found she had quite the influence over my personality. I became a generally happier, and even kinder person. Like I was slowly trying to copy her just to be that much closer to her. I wanted to understand what made her presence so uplifting, her laughter so contagious, and her outlook, ever so optimistic.  “I think it would be better to just be friends.” The text message that locked into my memory. The message I didn’t open in hopes it would go away. After that day, the dream stopped coming to me. Instead I was living it, but this time there was no one reaching out. I’d still see her,...
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Short Story: Underdog

I never liked going for the easy picks, the 4 or 2 to 1’s. The way I saw it was, since I don’t have much to spend, I figure it’s more worth it to bet on the 25’s or 27’s, since it would be more payout, even though I could only put so much in. After all, someone has to root for the little guy. The race is starting. The jockey on my 24/1 horse firmly plants themselves on the determined steed. With a fire in its eyes, the majestic beast gets a good leap at the start, galloping ahead of the 16/1 and the 12/1. The creature is proud, but still maintains laser focus on the finish line. The stallion channels a pure evolutionary instinct to run, never thinking of stopping. Even from so far away, he could feel the impact of the ribbon at the finish line, his sheer willpower slicing through it like a machete. 4th place. The walk home lost the sense of shame it once had after a lost race. The impact of the disappointment is now more or less equivalent to spilling water on myself in the car or find...
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Short Story: Trying to Understand

My sister’s house was the exact opposite of the tranquil silence of my apartment. I get sensory overload when I sometimes forget to tune out the sounds of kitchen appliances, the same Disney movie being played for the sixth time that day, and her two, extremely energetic, four year old twins. I fancied myself the “cool uncle.” When I came over, all they wanted to do was talk to me and show me their latest made up adventure they would reenact in the backyard. My sister saw how much they loved spending time with me, and how much I loved spending time with them.  “When do you plan on getting a few of your own?” She asked, already knowing my answer.  A memory comes with this baggage of not feeling up to the task of being a father. It was when my sister’s boys had just turned two years old. They were barely coming into their personality, the youngest one had trouble talking for quite some time, and I couldn’t always understand him. While the oldest was preoccupied with a handful of...
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