Doesn't mean I live outside the US.
I know I have said that I will probably be posting again once school starts, but there has been a change of plans because I have more time on my hands and more things are happening lately. This seems paradoxical, I know, but there is no other way to explain it.
Anyway. Lest I forget, the important things.
First, Penn's supplement is finally out. I've been waiting for this since summer vacation started, and for the month of July their website said, "The Penn supplement to the Common Application will be out on July 15th." (Well, more or less those words.) So I checked in late July, and they said it'll be out on August 1st, when the common app comes out. Then, on August 1st, during the common app frenzy, they pushed it back again to mid-August, whenever that is.
Well, mid-August in Penn-world is around August 25th, just so you know.
Then, there is the news that I passed my open-book honors-level-bio exam! I am not sure that the "open book" part still makes it an honors-level exam, but I shall have faith. And did you know our school doesn't have enough AP bio textbooks? I'm not too surprised. There are four classes, after all.
And probably the most exciting of all—Google Voice. I'm still trying to figure out how this works, but it looks really promising (not to mention free calls to Canada). The only thing is, I can't use Gmail in French to call people yet, because it's only out in the US so far, and apparently people in the US only speak English.
That is unfair. I live in the US, and I like my Gmail in French, thank you very much.
Still, you can't beat unlimited free SMS. That's got to have the major mobile carriers mad. And once again, I am falling deeper and deeper into the Google products chain. I use Gmail, Google calendar (although only occasionally), Google reader, iGoogle, Google (the search engine), Google docs, Google maps, Google books, Google trends (this one is really cool), Google translate, Google sites (HUSH portfolio), Chrome, Blogger (hey, this blog!), and now Google voice.
I am not obsessed. Not at all.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
All Sentimental
I am in a classroom, that I am sure of. There are rows of wooden desks and chairs—plank-like chairs that wobble and should not be chairs, should be a bookshelf instead, or a makeshift lock for backyard glass doors—and for a moment I think I am in China, because that is where I had seen plank chairs before. But it cannot be, because I see Paperclip people around me, Hank and one of his perverted, awkward teenage boy friends, and there is Dino, and Sonny, and I strain to see my friends, but I cannot find any.
So instead I walk up to Dino, and Sonny (as an afterthought, perhaps), and I say, "Hello."
My vowels are crisp. I say my "hello" with the "eh" and not as "hullo," and it somehow matters. My way of saying things, that is close, but not quite what I want it to be.
I do not remember if Dino says anything back. Sonny does, though. "Hi." Maybe a "how are you doing?" but that would be pushing it, I think. We are not that close.
We talk, the three of us, about things that do not matter, and I am talking just because I want to talk. Because I am running away from what I really should be doing, things that do matter, and I think Sonny senses it, because he asks me, "Should you be doing something?"
"Like what?" I ask, pretending to be coy.
"I don't know."
And this honesty shocks me, this admitting that he only knew a fleeting moment, but not anything substantial. And it makes Dino laugh, his cruel, monotone laugh, and I think that it is this laugh that I have fallen in love with, not his hair, or his eyes, or his back, or whatever else I have proclaimed it to be.
"There is a competition," I say, "French. I won, but I haven't gotten the scholarship yet. Haven't gone to pick it up."
It is a silly thing to hide. Silly me. Silly running away, not facing the truth. I do not know why it was so important that I not go and get what should be mine.
"Well, you should go, then," Sonny says.
I shook my head. "I don't want to," I say, while looking at Dino. I wanted him to be chivalrous, for once, and say, "I'll go with you."
Instead, it is Sonny who says that, while Dino just shrugs and laughs again. Sonny who pulls me into his arms, hugging me so tightly I am reminded of Vincent, remotely, and I hug him back, all calmed down, ready to tackle this apparently difficult task of grabbing for what really, really should be mine.
. . .
Then there are gender-bending moments, and I am a guy, and Sonny—or I think it is still him—is now a girl. We are a little cute, the two of us, together, wandering the halls, and I am not sure we know exactly where it is we are going. There are rooms, yes. Lots of offices. People. I ask for directions, and I get answers, but I forget them immediately and instead I try out every room until I think I have the right one. And then I forget what it is I am asking for, and I try to think of anything French, and I say Le petit prince, although that cannot be the right answer, and I know it even as I say it out loud.
Then my mom is calling me. She is. She says, "Ginny," although of course she does not really say Ginny, but my Chinese nickname instead. I think I responded, but I must have forgotten to, because she calls my name again.
And I wake up, and it is all gone. The hallway, the French, Sonny, the plank-chairs.
I can still feel Sonny's arms around me though, even if I know he is not a hugging kind of person. I cannot imagine Sonny hugging anyone, at least not now, and when he does it will probably be someone who is cheerful, and innocent, and not full of unspoken mysteries and little not-necessary lies. I am a little sad that I will not be able to know what his arms are like, but only a little. Barely there.
. . .
I am reading Anne Enright's The Gathering right now. The story itself has some mad quality to it, some dream-like appearance that is real but not reality. The reality is strange, detached, almost unreal, and the only things that are concrete are the blasphemies that were never real to begin with.
A softening of reality's jarring edges.
I have written before that I do not like reality, because it is too painful, and I do not like pain. I am constantly running away from pain, and maybe this is a wake-up call, that I am a hypocrite, because running away from pain and running toward Dino and his cruel laughs and this dream of golden blue are two very contradicting things. He is he and I am I, and in my dreams, at least, I am—despite my little not-necessary lies—as straightforward and innocent as I ever will be. In my dreams, I am capable of accepting someone who genuinely cares. In my dreams, I am able to stare into Sonny's eyes and not think about Dino, not think about how I wish everything were different.
In my dreams, I am content. And it is not reality, but it is real. Real enough, for me.
. . .
School is starting in over a week. On Wednesday. I still remember the first day of summer vacation, or the first half-day, anyway. I went to arena, got all the classes I wanted, then waited outside the front doors for an hour, talking to the people who came in and out, learning about the different schedules and feeling happy that everything, for me, anyway, worked out.
Then I walked over to the middle school, where I was meeting Argon, and I had taken off my shoes and was twirling in my white skirt, bare-footed, flip-flops on the side, and I felt the cool ground against my soles.
We were talking about math team. Gretchen was there, as was Mario, and Dino. I hated to admit it, but Mario and Dino did most of the introducing, the information-giving, and I thought to myself, "I am not really necessary here."
And then I thought about Matt and Kyle and Trevor, and Elaine, and all of the seniors, and I think, "They are not really necessary, either." They can be here, but if they were never here to begin with I do not think any of us would miss them. I think someone would have replaced them easily, and we would never miss them until we know of their existence. I, for one, do not yearn for someone who does not yet exist. Someone so real in another world, perhaps, he does exist.
Of course, that was exactly two months ago. This will probably be my last post before school starts, and when it does, I will probably go back to what I have been blogging about all along, except perhaps with a lot more college things and a lot less ranting about junior year and research papers, because that is in the past. There will be busy weeks, and not so busy weeks where I am constantly writing things and not doing things, and where words, for once, speak louder than actions.
Somewhere along the way, I know I want to realize dreams. I know I will want to find my way through the tangled half-truths and sticky, snarling pieces of memories, and of course, there is also the farewell, but I do not like to think about that yet. Not yet. It is not time yet. And I should be most familiar with this path, this last year of forlornness and realizing and complicatedness that will invariably snake its way into my decisions and leave me regretting some small thing or another ten years from now, until I do not remember what it was and only remember the regret. But not yet.
. . .
Veronica Hegarty has to—and it is not a whiny, hopefully-will-be but an absolutely-must-be—fall in love with everyone she has sex with. I, in turn, have to fall in love with everyone who loves me. It is as though I have no choice in the matter. Of course, that is not true. I can fall in love with people who do not love me back, who will never love me back. But I absolutely-must-be have to fall in love with anyone who loves me. No exceptions.
This has, I suppose, made me brazen at times. A daring I-don't-give-a-damn-about-you that has propelled me into worlds I am not supposed to trespass, but I have broken far more rules than I care about. I have long ago blurred that fine line between love and affection, because it is impossible to love so many people at once without having to spread myself somewhat, to say "I love you," and make all the gestures, but to be unable to say, "I'll do anything for you," because there are way too many of you and only one of me.
And I am happy. I think I am, and that is all that matters, not whether I am actually happy or not. I think I am happy, and I will be.
As long as Sonny never reads this. That would be difficult to explain.
So instead I walk up to Dino, and Sonny (as an afterthought, perhaps), and I say, "Hello."
My vowels are crisp. I say my "hello" with the "eh" and not as "hullo," and it somehow matters. My way of saying things, that is close, but not quite what I want it to be.
I do not remember if Dino says anything back. Sonny does, though. "Hi." Maybe a "how are you doing?" but that would be pushing it, I think. We are not that close.
We talk, the three of us, about things that do not matter, and I am talking just because I want to talk. Because I am running away from what I really should be doing, things that do matter, and I think Sonny senses it, because he asks me, "Should you be doing something?"
"Like what?" I ask, pretending to be coy.
"I don't know."
And this honesty shocks me, this admitting that he only knew a fleeting moment, but not anything substantial. And it makes Dino laugh, his cruel, monotone laugh, and I think that it is this laugh that I have fallen in love with, not his hair, or his eyes, or his back, or whatever else I have proclaimed it to be.
"There is a competition," I say, "French. I won, but I haven't gotten the scholarship yet. Haven't gone to pick it up."
It is a silly thing to hide. Silly me. Silly running away, not facing the truth. I do not know why it was so important that I not go and get what should be mine.
"Well, you should go, then," Sonny says.
I shook my head. "I don't want to," I say, while looking at Dino. I wanted him to be chivalrous, for once, and say, "I'll go with you."
Instead, it is Sonny who says that, while Dino just shrugs and laughs again. Sonny who pulls me into his arms, hugging me so tightly I am reminded of Vincent, remotely, and I hug him back, all calmed down, ready to tackle this apparently difficult task of grabbing for what really, really should be mine.
. . .
Then there are gender-bending moments, and I am a guy, and Sonny—or I think it is still him—is now a girl. We are a little cute, the two of us, together, wandering the halls, and I am not sure we know exactly where it is we are going. There are rooms, yes. Lots of offices. People. I ask for directions, and I get answers, but I forget them immediately and instead I try out every room until I think I have the right one. And then I forget what it is I am asking for, and I try to think of anything French, and I say Le petit prince, although that cannot be the right answer, and I know it even as I say it out loud.
Then my mom is calling me. She is. She says, "Ginny," although of course she does not really say Ginny, but my Chinese nickname instead. I think I responded, but I must have forgotten to, because she calls my name again.
And I wake up, and it is all gone. The hallway, the French, Sonny, the plank-chairs.
I can still feel Sonny's arms around me though, even if I know he is not a hugging kind of person. I cannot imagine Sonny hugging anyone, at least not now, and when he does it will probably be someone who is cheerful, and innocent, and not full of unspoken mysteries and little not-necessary lies. I am a little sad that I will not be able to know what his arms are like, but only a little. Barely there.
. . .
I am reading Anne Enright's The Gathering right now. The story itself has some mad quality to it, some dream-like appearance that is real but not reality. The reality is strange, detached, almost unreal, and the only things that are concrete are the blasphemies that were never real to begin with.
A softening of reality's jarring edges.
I have written before that I do not like reality, because it is too painful, and I do not like pain. I am constantly running away from pain, and maybe this is a wake-up call, that I am a hypocrite, because running away from pain and running toward Dino and his cruel laughs and this dream of golden blue are two very contradicting things. He is he and I am I, and in my dreams, at least, I am—despite my little not-necessary lies—as straightforward and innocent as I ever will be. In my dreams, I am capable of accepting someone who genuinely cares. In my dreams, I am able to stare into Sonny's eyes and not think about Dino, not think about how I wish everything were different.
In my dreams, I am content. And it is not reality, but it is real. Real enough, for me.
. . .
School is starting in over a week. On Wednesday. I still remember the first day of summer vacation, or the first half-day, anyway. I went to arena, got all the classes I wanted, then waited outside the front doors for an hour, talking to the people who came in and out, learning about the different schedules and feeling happy that everything, for me, anyway, worked out.
Then I walked over to the middle school, where I was meeting Argon, and I had taken off my shoes and was twirling in my white skirt, bare-footed, flip-flops on the side, and I felt the cool ground against my soles.
We were talking about math team. Gretchen was there, as was Mario, and Dino. I hated to admit it, but Mario and Dino did most of the introducing, the information-giving, and I thought to myself, "I am not really necessary here."
And then I thought about Matt and Kyle and Trevor, and Elaine, and all of the seniors, and I think, "They are not really necessary, either." They can be here, but if they were never here to begin with I do not think any of us would miss them. I think someone would have replaced them easily, and we would never miss them until we know of their existence. I, for one, do not yearn for someone who does not yet exist. Someone so real in another world, perhaps, he does exist.
Of course, that was exactly two months ago. This will probably be my last post before school starts, and when it does, I will probably go back to what I have been blogging about all along, except perhaps with a lot more college things and a lot less ranting about junior year and research papers, because that is in the past. There will be busy weeks, and not so busy weeks where I am constantly writing things and not doing things, and where words, for once, speak louder than actions.
Somewhere along the way, I know I want to realize dreams. I know I will want to find my way through the tangled half-truths and sticky, snarling pieces of memories, and of course, there is also the farewell, but I do not like to think about that yet. Not yet. It is not time yet. And I should be most familiar with this path, this last year of forlornness and realizing and complicatedness that will invariably snake its way into my decisions and leave me regretting some small thing or another ten years from now, until I do not remember what it was and only remember the regret. But not yet.
. . .
Veronica Hegarty has to—and it is not a whiny, hopefully-will-be but an absolutely-must-be—fall in love with everyone she has sex with. I, in turn, have to fall in love with everyone who loves me. It is as though I have no choice in the matter. Of course, that is not true. I can fall in love with people who do not love me back, who will never love me back. But I absolutely-must-be have to fall in love with anyone who loves me. No exceptions.
This has, I suppose, made me brazen at times. A daring I-don't-give-a-damn-about-you that has propelled me into worlds I am not supposed to trespass, but I have broken far more rules than I care about. I have long ago blurred that fine line between love and affection, because it is impossible to love so many people at once without having to spread myself somewhat, to say "I love you," and make all the gestures, but to be unable to say, "I'll do anything for you," because there are way too many of you and only one of me.
And I am happy. I think I am, and that is all that matters, not whether I am actually happy or not. I think I am happy, and I will be.
As long as Sonny never reads this. That would be difficult to explain.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
TOAST-Math Team Style, take OWEN
I've done this before, but here's the next installment. Sorry for the horrible delay.
NOTE: People represented in here do not closely resemble what they are like in real life. Just saying.
OTHER NOTE: Not edited. Yet. If you find any mistakes, report them to me, and I'll fix them.
Step UN: Choose your character—>
1.) Tea
2.) Owen (which is here)
3.) Argon
4.) Summer
5.) Tybalt
Step DEUX: Read the RULES—>
I. Find the number where your chosen character starts.
II. Read the first part.
III. When prompted, make a choice between either 1 or 2.
IV. After choosing, use ctrl-F to find where the next part goes. (this part may not work as well as thought to be because there are way too many repeating tags. so, uh, just go ctrl-F until something matches. sorry, it's the best I can do in one post.)
V. Have fun!
Step TROIS: Choose your fate—>
2.) Owen
It's Tuesday, and you're making your way to math team, along with Irving. Seriously. You spend so much time with Irving, you wonder what you'll do when you go off to college.
Well, that's still far, far away. And there's still plenty of months to enjoy your almost-extreme case of senioritis.
Down the hall, you see Mario looking distracted, but he has not noticed you or Irving yet.
1. Grab Mario's attention. (AAA.)
2. Ignore him. He'll captivate Irving's attention anyway, and you'll be left out. (AAB.)
AAA.
"Hey," you call out. "Mario!"
Mario looks over at you with a glazed look, as if he had just consumed a dozen sugar-glazed donuts. Actually, from the Starbucks bag he's carrying in one hand, you think your guess may not be that far off from the truth. Of course, you highly doubt Mario eats donuts.
But he's remotely better than Bryant in terms of width, so perhaps he indulges himself at times.
(And you think to yourself that Bryant should be glad intelligence and width are not directly related, but the authoress digress.)
"Hey Owen," Mario replies, still dazed. "Irving."
1. Ask Mario what's wrong. (AAC.)
2. Wait for Irving to ask Mario what's wrong. (AAD.)
AAB.
You ignore Mario. Irving will say something. He always does. If you didn't know any better (and if you hadn't known about the secret relationship Irving has with—wait, why are you even thinking this?), you would have sworn the two of them were infatuated with each other.
Instead, you watch in awe as Mario disintegrates.
Huh?
Then, you watch in more awe as Bryant comes from out of nowhere and says, "I knew this would happen! I told him so, and did he listen? No! Serves him right."
You stare at the thing in Bryant's hand that looks suspiciously like a ray-gun, and you can feel your feet inching backwards. Suddenly, you brush against something furry.
A purple bunny? What?
This is officially weird. (Because the authoress is officially tired of writing this.)
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)
AAC.
"What's wrong, Mario?"
You manage to choke out a sentence before Irving does, and you pride yourself for this achievement. After all, he's an expert at saying things really, really fast.
"Oh," Mario says. "It's nothing."
"What do you mean it's nothing?" Irving asks. "It's always something. Come on, tell us."
"Well... but you promise you won't tell anyone?"
You stare at Mario, who looks rather uneasy. That's strange. You debate whether it's worth it to commit yourself to a lifelong sentence of sworn secrecy, just to indulge your curio--concern.
1. Promise Mario you won't tell anymore. Really. (AAE.)
2. Tell Mario you have to meet with Dino, so you'll be going now. (AAF.)
AAD.
You wait for Irving to ask Mario what's wrong, because you're sure that's what Irving would ask in this situation, but instead Irving smacks Mario on the head and asks, "How many?"
How many what? You want to ask. Of course, Mario knows what, because he replies, "Twenty."
"I told you to cut back, didn't I?" Irving shouts. "Look at you. Look at you!"
"Hey, don't look at me. Bryant had forty, and he's passed out in my car."
"Are you guys, uh," you try to say, "talking about—alcohol?"
It's the only logical solution you can think of, if Bryant has passed out. Or maybe it's drugs. Either way, it's not good.
Irving and Mario stare at you, then both start laughing. Probably at you. Ouch.
1. Ask them what they're laughing at, and hope it's not you. (AAM.)
2. Ignore them. They're not worth your time, anyway. (AAN.)
AAE.
Your curiosity wins. Big surprise. You look Mario in the eye, hold up your hand, and say, "I solemnly swear that whatever happens between us stays between us, and us only."
"Me too," Irving says. Although that's sort of cheating, because he hasn't technically sworn himself to anything.
Mario breaks a weak smile, looks behind his shoulder to make sure no one can overhear him, and then turn to the two of you with a very serious face.
"I'm experimenting on my purple bunnies along with Bryant, but lately, Bryant seems to be too fondly attached towards the smallest one, and I'm afraid he won't let me carry out my experiments anymore."
Uh, what?
1. Try to say something intelligent. Even if you have no idea what Mario just said. (AAG.)
2. Just keep on staring. When in doubt, stare. (AAH.)
AAF.
"I'm sorry, Mario," you say, "but I have to go. Dino's waiting for me."
Mario doesn't even look at you, but Irving drags you back and says, "Come on. This is probably good. You don't want to miss it. Dino can wait a while."
You try to protest. "I really don't think—"
"I love you, Irving," Mario suddenly says. Irving drops your arm. You drop your jaw (hey, you can't drop your own arm). What? Did you just hear that right?
"I was going to give you this bag of donuts," Mario continues, "as a present, you know. But I ate it on my way here."
"I—uh—you—" Irving sputters.
1. Ask Mario, "Are you serious?" (AAK.)
2. Tell Mario, "So are you going to get Irving any other gift now that you've eaten his?" (AAL.)
AAG.
You decide anything is better than plain silence, so you begin to form some words in your throat. Or, more like, you begin to gurgle and babble.
"Uh—well, what—I mean—that—"
Luckily for you, Irving is much more level-headed. "What kind of experiments are you carrying out on these bunnies?"
You think there are much more pressing questions, such as why are you experimenting on bunnies? or why are these bunnies purple? or even why and how is Bryant involved in this craziness? But since Irving is the one with the words, you keep quiet. Perhaps you should reconsider the friends you make, but it doesn't matter now, since you're going off to college soon anyway.
Weren't you just thinking that you're glad college is so far away? You think you might have had a change of heart, because you can't imagine anything more wonderful than college "happening" right now, taking you away from Mario and his purple bunnies.
No offense to him, or Bryant, in any way.
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)
AAH.
You can't vocalize your thoughts, so you just stare at Mario. As does Irving. Both of you stare at him, then at each other, then at anywhere but each other.
"Ahem," Mario says. "Anyway, I thought I should bribe Bryant with some donuts (you were right about the contents of the bag) so he'll forget about the bunny, but I accidentally ate all twenty donuts."
Well, twelve, twenty. Big difference. Besides, it's not as if anyone can win their way with Bryant through his stomach.
"What are you going to do now?" Irving asks.
"I don't know," Mario says. "I've been stressed out over it, but I think I'm going to get #4 to steal it while I talk to Bryant so he thinks I'm innocent."
That doesn't work, you want to tell Mario, because you're 95% confident (plus or minus 3%) that Bryant can read minds. But you're more concerned about who this #4 is, and you don't think you really want to know.
1. Ask Mario who #4 is. It can't be that bad, can it? (AAI.)
2. Whatever. It's not like you want to know, anyway. Right? (AAJ.)
(AAI.)
Once again, curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to ask.
"Mario, who's #4?"
Mario stares at you as if you had just suddenly morphed into Dino. Ew. Bad thoughts. Really bad.
After a long, long silence, in which Irving just stares at the two of you as if you two were really fascinating, which, you would like to take a moment to say, you really are fascinating, Mario suddenly says, "Oh."
Huh?
"You should know #4. He occasionally goes to stat, if #1 can't go for some reason."
You're really confused right now. "Who's #1? Who are these people?"
"Wait, you mean you don't know #1? Oh no, what have I done?!"
Mario runs down the hall, wailing, and leaving both you and Irving possibly forever traumatized. And you still don't know who #4 is. Actually, you're not sure if you really even know Mario by now, and everything seems this huge mix of thoughts and memories.
1. Give up. This is just way too weird. (QQUIT.)
2. I don't have any other options, so if you don't want to quit, then, uh, the end? (THEEND.)
(AAJ.)
Before you can do anything, Irving speaks up. Nervously.
"Oh, hi, Bryant—"
You look over Mario's head. Bryant is there, glaring at the three of you. Or maybe he's just glaring at the back of Mario's head. Mario spins around, stares at Bryant's evil eyes, and stammers, "Uh, hi, Bryant, funny seeing you here."
"You were thinking about killing Cuddles!" Bryant screams.
"Cuddles?" Irving asks. "You named your bunny 'Cuddles'?"
Bryant turns to glare at Irving instead. Which is rather fortunate, because now he is not glaring at you. You slip behind Mario and co. just as Dino pokes his head out of the math team room and asks, "What are you screaming about, Bryant?"
You know you're Dino's brother and all, and you should save him from his fate (or what's left of it, anyway), but your life is at stake as well. You pray that Dino is good enough friends with Bryant, or Tybalt will come out and calm Bryant down, or—
Really. Why think? Just get out of here while you still can. Now.
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)
(AAK.)
"Are you serious?" You ask, afraid to hear the answer. It does stop you from looking like a gaping idiot, though, so at least something is good.
"Of course not," Mario says. "I was just going to say that to Bryant, so I can distract him from more important things."
"Like what?" Irving asks, having caught his breath.
"Like how I'm going to be having #4 steal his baby purple bunny away for my experiments."
That is very, very strange. Too strange. You have lots of questions to ask, but perhaps this would also be a good time to get away and find Dino and tell him of this craziness.
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Stay for a bit longer. Maybe Mario will spout more nonsense? (AAJ.)
(AAL.)
"Hey, uh, Mario," you say. "Are you going to get Irving any other gifts then? I mean, since you've already—"
Mario looks at you suspiciously. "Maybe," he says. "What's it to you?"
"Nothing. It's just, well—oh, nevermind."
"Are you jealous of me?" Mario asks.
You can still hear Irving sputtering. Maybe he's choking. You hope it's not serious, but you don't dare look at him what with the (deathly) looks Mario is giving you right now.
"No, I'm not!" You defend yourself, silently promising never, ever to get in Mario's way, ever. "I don't even like Irving. I like, uh—I like Melissa!"
Which is a lie, but she was the first person to pop into your head. Probably because she's standing a hundred feet away, looking at you.
Life just doesn't get any better, does it?
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)
(AAM.)
You decide to get to the bottom of this. "What are you guys laughing at?"
"Ha, alcohol—" Mario laughs, tears forming in his beady eyes (maybe it just looks beady because of the tears). "You thought we were drinking!"
Irving howls. "Come on, Owen! You can do better than that. Think about it. It's Mario. And Bryant. What could they be doing?"
This isn't really funny, and you don't see why they're laughing like this, when—
You can't seem to stop laughing yourself. Everything's hazy, and you're not sure what you're saying anymore, but it makes Mario laugh, which makes Irving laugh, which makes you laugh, which makes Mario laugh even harder, which—
As you start to fall unconscious from lack of oxygen, you think you see Bryant's outline, along with... a purple bunny? You must be dreaming, you think, as everything turns dark.
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. you can't breathe). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)
(AAN.)
You ignore the two of them and go into the math team room, where Dino, Tybalt, Argon, Tea, Gretchen, Ginny, and Micro are doing math problems. Not surprisingly, Bryant isn't there.
"What's going on outside?" Dino asks you.
"Nothing," you say. "Just Irving and Mario being—"
You want to say "jerks," but suddenly the laughter stops, and then someone screams. You rush outside, with everyone following you, and you see something purple and a skinny backside that sort of resembles—who was it again?—you can't remember. Mario and Irving are gone, and the skinny back disappears before you can call it to stop.
"Hey, Owen," Tybalt suddenly says, "have you seen Bryant anywhere? He went out with Mario, but he hasn't come back yet."
Bryant—skinny back—yeah right. They can't be related.
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)
THEEND.
Yay! You've reached the end of the story, or whatever is left of this story. If you wish, you can: a) leave a comment below; b) go back to the beginning and try again; or c) leave a comment below.
QQUIT.
Oh dear, what happened? Did you fall into a wormhole and lose consciousness while aliens invaded the planet and ate your favorite Hershey's bar? Whatever the reason, it's too late now. Go back to the top and try again, and maybe you'll have better luck this time.
NOTE: People represented in here do not closely resemble what they are like in real life. Just saying.
OTHER NOTE: Not edited. Yet. If you find any mistakes, report them to me, and I'll fix them.
Step UN: Choose your character—>
1.) Tea
2.) Owen (which is here)
3.) Argon
4.) Summer
5.) Tybalt
Step DEUX: Read the RULES—>
I. Find the number where your chosen character starts.
II. Read the first part.
III. When prompted, make a choice between either 1 or 2.
IV. After choosing, use ctrl-F to find where the next part goes. (this part may not work as well as thought to be because there are way too many repeating tags. so, uh, just go ctrl-F until something matches. sorry, it's the best I can do in one post.)
V. Have fun!
Step TROIS: Choose your fate—>
2.) Owen
It's Tuesday, and you're making your way to math team, along with Irving. Seriously. You spend so much time with Irving, you wonder what you'll do when you go off to college.
Well, that's still far, far away. And there's still plenty of months to enjoy your almost-extreme case of senioritis.
Down the hall, you see Mario looking distracted, but he has not noticed you or Irving yet.
1. Grab Mario's attention. (AAA.)
2. Ignore him. He'll captivate Irving's attention anyway, and you'll be left out. (AAB.)
AAA.
"Hey," you call out. "Mario!"
Mario looks over at you with a glazed look, as if he had just consumed a dozen sugar-glazed donuts. Actually, from the Starbucks bag he's carrying in one hand, you think your guess may not be that far off from the truth. Of course, you highly doubt Mario eats donuts.
But he's remotely better than Bryant in terms of width, so perhaps he indulges himself at times.
(And you think to yourself that Bryant should be glad intelligence and width are not directly related, but the authoress digress.)
"Hey Owen," Mario replies, still dazed. "Irving."
1. Ask Mario what's wrong. (AAC.)
2. Wait for Irving to ask Mario what's wrong. (AAD.)
AAB.
You ignore Mario. Irving will say something. He always does. If you didn't know any better (and if you hadn't known about the secret relationship Irving has with—wait, why are you even thinking this?), you would have sworn the two of them were infatuated with each other.
Instead, you watch in awe as Mario disintegrates.
Huh?
Then, you watch in more awe as Bryant comes from out of nowhere and says, "I knew this would happen! I told him so, and did he listen? No! Serves him right."
You stare at the thing in Bryant's hand that looks suspiciously like a ray-gun, and you can feel your feet inching backwards. Suddenly, you brush against something furry.
A purple bunny? What?
This is officially weird. (Because the authoress is officially tired of writing this.)
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)
AAC.
"What's wrong, Mario?"
You manage to choke out a sentence before Irving does, and you pride yourself for this achievement. After all, he's an expert at saying things really, really fast.
"Oh," Mario says. "It's nothing."
"What do you mean it's nothing?" Irving asks. "It's always something. Come on, tell us."
"Well... but you promise you won't tell anyone?"
You stare at Mario, who looks rather uneasy. That's strange. You debate whether it's worth it to commit yourself to a lifelong sentence of sworn secrecy, just to indulge your curio--concern.
1. Promise Mario you won't tell anymore. Really. (AAE.)
2. Tell Mario you have to meet with Dino, so you'll be going now. (AAF.)
AAD.
You wait for Irving to ask Mario what's wrong, because you're sure that's what Irving would ask in this situation, but instead Irving smacks Mario on the head and asks, "How many?"
How many what? You want to ask. Of course, Mario knows what, because he replies, "Twenty."
"I told you to cut back, didn't I?" Irving shouts. "Look at you. Look at you!"
"Hey, don't look at me. Bryant had forty, and he's passed out in my car."
"Are you guys, uh," you try to say, "talking about—alcohol?"
It's the only logical solution you can think of, if Bryant has passed out. Or maybe it's drugs. Either way, it's not good.
Irving and Mario stare at you, then both start laughing. Probably at you. Ouch.
1. Ask them what they're laughing at, and hope it's not you. (AAM.)
2. Ignore them. They're not worth your time, anyway. (AAN.)
AAE.
Your curiosity wins. Big surprise. You look Mario in the eye, hold up your hand, and say, "I solemnly swear that whatever happens between us stays between us, and us only."
"Me too," Irving says. Although that's sort of cheating, because he hasn't technically sworn himself to anything.
Mario breaks a weak smile, looks behind his shoulder to make sure no one can overhear him, and then turn to the two of you with a very serious face.
"I'm experimenting on my purple bunnies along with Bryant, but lately, Bryant seems to be too fondly attached towards the smallest one, and I'm afraid he won't let me carry out my experiments anymore."
Uh, what?
1. Try to say something intelligent. Even if you have no idea what Mario just said. (AAG.)
2. Just keep on staring. When in doubt, stare. (AAH.)
AAF.
"I'm sorry, Mario," you say, "but I have to go. Dino's waiting for me."
Mario doesn't even look at you, but Irving drags you back and says, "Come on. This is probably good. You don't want to miss it. Dino can wait a while."
You try to protest. "I really don't think—"
"I love you, Irving," Mario suddenly says. Irving drops your arm. You drop your jaw (hey, you can't drop your own arm). What? Did you just hear that right?
"I was going to give you this bag of donuts," Mario continues, "as a present, you know. But I ate it on my way here."
"I—uh—you—" Irving sputters.
1. Ask Mario, "Are you serious?" (AAK.)
2. Tell Mario, "So are you going to get Irving any other gift now that you've eaten his?" (AAL.)
AAG.
You decide anything is better than plain silence, so you begin to form some words in your throat. Or, more like, you begin to gurgle and babble.
"Uh—well, what—I mean—that—"
Luckily for you, Irving is much more level-headed. "What kind of experiments are you carrying out on these bunnies?"
You think there are much more pressing questions, such as why are you experimenting on bunnies? or why are these bunnies purple? or even why and how is Bryant involved in this craziness? But since Irving is the one with the words, you keep quiet. Perhaps you should reconsider the friends you make, but it doesn't matter now, since you're going off to college soon anyway.
Weren't you just thinking that you're glad college is so far away? You think you might have had a change of heart, because you can't imagine anything more wonderful than college "happening" right now, taking you away from Mario and his purple bunnies.
No offense to him, or Bryant, in any way.
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)
AAH.
You can't vocalize your thoughts, so you just stare at Mario. As does Irving. Both of you stare at him, then at each other, then at anywhere but each other.
"Ahem," Mario says. "Anyway, I thought I should bribe Bryant with some donuts (you were right about the contents of the bag) so he'll forget about the bunny, but I accidentally ate all twenty donuts."
Well, twelve, twenty. Big difference. Besides, it's not as if anyone can win their way with Bryant through his stomach.
"What are you going to do now?" Irving asks.
"I don't know," Mario says. "I've been stressed out over it, but I think I'm going to get #4 to steal it while I talk to Bryant so he thinks I'm innocent."
That doesn't work, you want to tell Mario, because you're 95% confident (plus or minus 3%) that Bryant can read minds. But you're more concerned about who this #4 is, and you don't think you really want to know.
1. Ask Mario who #4 is. It can't be that bad, can it? (AAI.)
2. Whatever. It's not like you want to know, anyway. Right? (AAJ.)
(AAI.)
Once again, curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to ask.
"Mario, who's #4?"
Mario stares at you as if you had just suddenly morphed into Dino. Ew. Bad thoughts. Really bad.
After a long, long silence, in which Irving just stares at the two of you as if you two were really fascinating, which, you would like to take a moment to say, you really are fascinating, Mario suddenly says, "Oh."
Huh?
"You should know #4. He occasionally goes to stat, if #1 can't go for some reason."
You're really confused right now. "Who's #1? Who are these people?"
"Wait, you mean you don't know #1? Oh no, what have I done?!"
Mario runs down the hall, wailing, and leaving both you and Irving possibly forever traumatized. And you still don't know who #4 is. Actually, you're not sure if you really even know Mario by now, and everything seems this huge mix of thoughts and memories.
1. Give up. This is just way too weird. (QQUIT.)
2. I don't have any other options, so if you don't want to quit, then, uh, the end? (THEEND.)
(AAJ.)
Before you can do anything, Irving speaks up. Nervously.
"Oh, hi, Bryant—"
You look over Mario's head. Bryant is there, glaring at the three of you. Or maybe he's just glaring at the back of Mario's head. Mario spins around, stares at Bryant's evil eyes, and stammers, "Uh, hi, Bryant, funny seeing you here."
"You were thinking about killing Cuddles!" Bryant screams.
"Cuddles?" Irving asks. "You named your bunny 'Cuddles'?"
Bryant turns to glare at Irving instead. Which is rather fortunate, because now he is not glaring at you. You slip behind Mario and co. just as Dino pokes his head out of the math team room and asks, "What are you screaming about, Bryant?"
You know you're Dino's brother and all, and you should save him from his fate (or what's left of it, anyway), but your life is at stake as well. You pray that Dino is good enough friends with Bryant, or Tybalt will come out and calm Bryant down, or—
Really. Why think? Just get out of here while you still can. Now.
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)
(AAK.)
"Are you serious?" You ask, afraid to hear the answer. It does stop you from looking like a gaping idiot, though, so at least something is good.
"Of course not," Mario says. "I was just going to say that to Bryant, so I can distract him from more important things."
"Like what?" Irving asks, having caught his breath.
"Like how I'm going to be having #4 steal his baby purple bunny away for my experiments."
That is very, very strange. Too strange. You have lots of questions to ask, but perhaps this would also be a good time to get away and find Dino and tell him of this craziness.
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Stay for a bit longer. Maybe Mario will spout more nonsense? (AAJ.)
(AAL.)
"Hey, uh, Mario," you say. "Are you going to get Irving any other gifts then? I mean, since you've already—"
Mario looks at you suspiciously. "Maybe," he says. "What's it to you?"
"Nothing. It's just, well—oh, nevermind."
"Are you jealous of me?" Mario asks.
You can still hear Irving sputtering. Maybe he's choking. You hope it's not serious, but you don't dare look at him what with the (deathly) looks Mario is giving you right now.
"No, I'm not!" You defend yourself, silently promising never, ever to get in Mario's way, ever. "I don't even like Irving. I like, uh—I like Melissa!"
Which is a lie, but she was the first person to pop into your head. Probably because she's standing a hundred feet away, looking at you.
Life just doesn't get any better, does it?
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)
(AAM.)
You decide to get to the bottom of this. "What are you guys laughing at?"
"Ha, alcohol—" Mario laughs, tears forming in his beady eyes (maybe it just looks beady because of the tears). "You thought we were drinking!"
Irving howls. "Come on, Owen! You can do better than that. Think about it. It's Mario. And Bryant. What could they be doing?"
This isn't really funny, and you don't see why they're laughing like this, when—
You can't seem to stop laughing yourself. Everything's hazy, and you're not sure what you're saying anymore, but it makes Mario laugh, which makes Irving laugh, which makes you laugh, which makes Mario laugh even harder, which—
As you start to fall unconscious from lack of oxygen, you think you see Bryant's outline, along with... a purple bunny? You must be dreaming, you think, as everything turns dark.
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. you can't breathe). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)
(AAN.)
You ignore the two of them and go into the math team room, where Dino, Tybalt, Argon, Tea, Gretchen, Ginny, and Micro are doing math problems. Not surprisingly, Bryant isn't there.
"What's going on outside?" Dino asks you.
"Nothing," you say. "Just Irving and Mario being—"
You want to say "jerks," but suddenly the laughter stops, and then someone screams. You rush outside, with everyone following you, and you see something purple and a skinny backside that sort of resembles—who was it again?—you can't remember. Mario and Irving are gone, and the skinny back disappears before you can call it to stop.
"Hey, Owen," Tybalt suddenly says, "have you seen Bryant anywhere? He went out with Mario, but he hasn't come back yet."
Bryant—skinny back—yeah right. They can't be related.
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)
THEEND.
Yay! You've reached the end of the story, or whatever is left of this story. If you wish, you can: a) leave a comment below; b) go back to the beginning and try again; or c) leave a comment below.
QQUIT.
Oh dear, what happened? Did you fall into a wormhole and lose consciousness while aliens invaded the planet and ate your favorite Hershey's bar? Whatever the reason, it's too late now. Go back to the top and try again, and maybe you'll have better luck this time.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
I saw xkcd at Cornell
This one. We were inside the electric and computer engineering building, which was sort of surprising, because usually these doors are locked and only students and faculty can enter. Anyway, they had these huge TVs (sort of like the ones at Paperclip, except larger), and they also had these really cool devices, such as a semiconductor wafer designed by Cornell students (my dad works for a company that manufactures the devices used to make such wafers, so of course he used this opportunity to brag).
We went upstairs afterwards, where we saw numerous computer labs, actual labs (although I suppose a computer lab is also a lab), and the xkcd strip on one of the doors. Then we went across an indoor bridge with lots of red chairs facing away from the center, and two floors below us, there was a study hall with a few people typing away on their laptops.
I have only been inside one other non-library, non-huge-lecture-hall-for-info-sessions academic building, and that was Huntsman at Penn (which I have written about, in part, but it is still in draft mode because I need to add two more schools to it), so I was still fairly surprised that we were allowed inside. There were lots of cool equipment rooms, and my dad even talked to one of the professors there (while my mom and I were outside, so we didn't get to hear what they talked about), and he got a booklet on Cornell engineering projects.
Some other highlights:
Besides, didn't my dad say he was going to move back to China once I get into college, and never, ever come back again?
People are fickle these days.
Also, completely unrelated, but I had a dream that I was driving last night. There was something special to it than just driving, though (and it's not the "I crashed into a wall" kind of special), but I don't remember what it was. I was going to write it down but then I forgot.
So... time to finish up that Penn/Princeton (again)/Swarthmore post.
We went upstairs afterwards, where we saw numerous computer labs, actual labs (although I suppose a computer lab is also a lab), and the xkcd strip on one of the doors. Then we went across an indoor bridge with lots of red chairs facing away from the center, and two floors below us, there was a study hall with a few people typing away on their laptops.
I have only been inside one other non-library, non-huge-lecture-hall-for-info-sessions academic building, and that was Huntsman at Penn (which I have written about, in part, but it is still in draft mode because I need to add two more schools to it), so I was still fairly surprised that we were allowed inside. There were lots of cool equipment rooms, and my dad even talked to one of the professors there (while my mom and I were outside, so we didn't get to hear what they talked about), and he got a booklet on Cornell engineering projects.
Some other highlights:
- Really helpful people, or at least the ones I've met. So even though it's a predominantly science and engineering school, it's not in any way unsociable.
- Buildings could use some better planning. There are some gorgeous (I still can't stop thinking about the "Ithaca is Gorges" pun whenever I use "gorgeous") buildings, such as the Baker dorms and the really fancy all-glass building, but they're this awkward mix of Gothic-old to contemporary-new that really doesn't mesh well.
- They sell bubble tea in downtown Ithaca. Taro-flavored bubble tea. Definitely a good point. Plus Ithaca's got a small-town feel but pretty busy, yet it's far away from Cornell (which has many of the pretty gorges) that there's no problem with noise or chaos.
- My tour group people are really, really unprepared. This isn't actually a highlight, but I found it shocking when someone asked, "Does Cornell have its own supplement to the Common App?" I mean, really? Just add the school to your list and you'll see. It's not that hard.
- Lake Caguya is really close by, and it's a pretty neat lake. Not Lake Ontario or Lake Michigan nice (I'm pretty biased in that aspect), but the ducks are friendly and don't run away from you. Neither do the squirrels in Cornell. I suppose that reflects on how nice the people there are towards the animals.
Besides, didn't my dad say he was going to move back to China once I get into college, and never, ever come back again?
People are fickle these days.
Also, completely unrelated, but I had a dream that I was driving last night. There was something special to it than just driving, though (and it's not the "I crashed into a wall" kind of special), but I don't remember what it was. I was going to write it down but then I forgot.
So... time to finish up that Penn/Princeton (again)/Swarthmore post.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
August Is A Good Month
For stocks, anyway, and only historically. At least that was what CNBC said. Their explanation was because numerous U.S. government officials take extended leaves during August, which is apparently good for investors in general. I am not quite sure why that is, and so far this month's data does not support that theory, although there is definitely not enough data to make any substantial conclusion.
[Don't even get me started on that commentary about Paul the Octopus and the atrocious claim that an 80% success rate meant if you succeeded four times, you have to fail your fifth time. It makes me shudder every time I think about it.
Also, on a related note, I talked with Argon after he came back from his trip to Spain, and he mention—or more like hinted at—the craziness when Spain won the World Cup.]
For me, August doesn't mean stocks. It means: a) I am endangering numerous people/properties/roads because I now have my permit and am testing the waters, if you will (it would be cool to drive through water someday); and b) the Common Application is out. I know I have been asked by Tea to not remind her about this, so, Tea, if you're reading this, just skip pretty much the rest of the post. Sorry.
So far I have added the list of colleges I'm applying to ("definitely Penn, and MIT, and Princeton, and, uh, do I want Duke?"), filled out all the little details about myself, my parents ("wait, the schools my parents went to don't have CEEB codes"), my academia-related adventures ("how do I fill out my course load for next year when I don't even know it for sure yet?"), and my possible career future ("undecided, or more commonly known as anything-that-involves-statistical-math-and-neurobiology-and-chemistry-and-maybe-psychology-and-philosophy-and-I-would-like-some-economics-as-well-and-what-do-you-mean-that's-impossible"). I haven't filled out my extracurriculars yet ("next to none, ouch"), nor have I explained how I spent my past two summers catching up on classwork and otherwise not doing stuff like finding the cure to cancer or ending world hunger (but of course, I can't do that yet, because curing cancer is Penn's ticket to becoming as "famed" as Wharton, who apparently, but don't quote me on it, loathes to associate with Penn).
All in all, it's good. Now to churn out around twenty essays and short answers, and I will be all peachy. Thank the College Admissions God (henceforth known as the CAG) that the Canadian schools don't require any essays (nor do they look for any intellectual exploration outside of school). Washington University (the St. Louis one) doesn't either, but their scholarships do.
I guess there truly is no such thing as a free-of-supplementary-essays application.
Basically this is me wasting brain cells writing something admissions people will never see instead of writing my essay. I think I should really make an alternate copy of my common application and add my blog address into the "additional information" section, and submit it to some impossible school (I'm thinking Harvard, it doesn't require a supplement essay). I mean, this blog is probably more indicative of my personality and life than any over-250-and-under-1000-words essay I can ever write.
Alas, life doesn't work that way. (Also, Harvard would probably not appreciate the fact that I'm considering Penn over it.)
So I should probably end this now and get back to staring at my application essay instead.
[Don't even get me started on that commentary about Paul the Octopus and the atrocious claim that an 80% success rate meant if you succeeded four times, you have to fail your fifth time. It makes me shudder every time I think about it.
Also, on a related note, I talked with Argon after he came back from his trip to Spain, and he mention—or more like hinted at—the craziness when Spain won the World Cup.]
For me, August doesn't mean stocks. It means: a) I am endangering numerous people/properties/roads because I now have my permit and am testing the waters, if you will (it would be cool to drive through water someday); and b) the Common Application is out. I know I have been asked by Tea to not remind her about this, so, Tea, if you're reading this, just skip pretty much the rest of the post. Sorry.
So far I have added the list of colleges I'm applying to ("definitely Penn, and MIT, and Princeton, and, uh, do I want Duke?"), filled out all the little details about myself, my parents ("wait, the schools my parents went to don't have CEEB codes"), my academia-related adventures ("how do I fill out my course load for next year when I don't even know it for sure yet?"), and my possible career future ("undecided, or more commonly known as anything-that-involves-statistical-math-and-neurobiology-and-chemistry-and-maybe-psychology-and-philosophy-and-I-would-like-some-economics-as-well-and-what-do-you-mean-that's-impossible"). I haven't filled out my extracurriculars yet ("next to none, ouch"), nor have I explained how I spent my past two summers catching up on classwork and otherwise not doing stuff like finding the cure to cancer or ending world hunger (but of course, I can't do that yet, because curing cancer is Penn's ticket to becoming as "famed" as Wharton, who apparently, but don't quote me on it, loathes to associate with Penn).
All in all, it's good. Now to churn out around twenty essays and short answers, and I will be all peachy. Thank the College Admissions God (henceforth known as the CAG) that the Canadian schools don't require any essays (nor do they look for any intellectual exploration outside of school). Washington University (the St. Louis one) doesn't either, but their scholarships do.
I guess there truly is no such thing as a free-of-supplementary-essays application.
Basically this is me wasting brain cells writing something admissions people will never see instead of writing my essay. I think I should really make an alternate copy of my common application and add my blog address into the "additional information" section, and submit it to some impossible school (I'm thinking Harvard, it doesn't require a supplement essay). I mean, this blog is probably more indicative of my personality and life than any over-250-and-under-1000-words essay I can ever write.
Alas, life doesn't work that way. (Also, Harvard would probably not appreciate the fact that I'm considering Penn over it.)
So I should probably end this now and get back to staring at my application essay instead.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
PPS: Perhaps This Is The (Perfect) One
[The much awaited "proof post" about my immense, often irrational love for Penn.]
Continuing on my analogy on love: I think I've mentioned this before plenty of times, but I can't say it enough. Penn is my first love. I come from a college-conscious family; my parents come from an era in China where college graduates were considered "the only future," and the government fully funded all such education. My second aunt on my dad's side bought books on the Chinese "Harvard Girl," hoping my cousin would follow in those footsteps. If you asked any of my family's friends about which colleges were "good," they would answer, in a similar order, "MIT, Stanford, UC Berkeley, Caltech, Cornell." Harvard. Yale. Big names. I knew about the prestige, but not much about where I really wanted to attend.
Falling in love with Penn is much similar to the usual way I fall in love. Something catches my curiosity, and slowly, I become so entangled in its mysteries that I find myself irrevocably in love. Maybe it's not love, but rather an enormous interest, bordering on obsession, but I like to compare it to love.
(Ironically, Owen's going to Penn.)
The first time I'd heard of Penn was in a newspaper crossword. The clue was, "How do University of Pennsylvania students usually refer to their school?" The word was five letters long, so I guessed, "UPenn."
It was the answer, but it wasn't true, although I did not learn that until much later.
Sometime after that, I had the notion that I wanted to learn more about this school. It was in Philadelphia, one of my favorite cities (aside from Toronto, obviously, and Boston, and Chicago), and I was definitely a city girl. My parents talked with me about business, about a math career, and they brought up Wharton. It was like Penn was the perfect, perfect school.
Well, my parents and I went on a one-day trip to Philadelphia some Saturday prior (more like, an eternity ago), and our main destination was, of course, Penn. My first impression of Penn (physically) and of University City was the huge metal bridge with Penn's crest printed upon it. That, and it was raining. It was raining so hard that when I got out of the car, there was a small, gushing river between the edge of the car and the curb.
The actual information session I did not remember much. I do remember it was in a huge room, and there were many, many people, from all sorts of places. Some aspects of the admissions process was talked about, mostly on what Penn was looking for, and I remember lots of mention on the dual-degree programs.
The tour, on the other hand, was quite a spectacular event. It was still raining, and we went around with umbrellas, but I could catch glimpses of lush green leaves and beautiful, castle-like buildings. It was not as exquisite as Princeton, but it had its own charm. And when I walked into Huntsman Hall, I think I really stopped breathing for a moment.
I think, at that moment, I decided that I would start wooing Penn with my love letters (i.e. application material).
We went to downtown Philadelphia next, where my mom said I would have no problem finding adequate Chinese food in case I craved some, and we saw the Liberty Bell. We also saw numerous Chinese school-kids (elementary to middle school) who were here as part of a summer camp program.
The rain had cleared up by now, and we set out for Swarthmore, as suggested by Reese. I do not understand why Reese is so excited by the possibility (which, by the way, is very unlikely, if anything) that I may be attending Swat. We drove behind a trolley car for half an hour, into what was definitely a small town, and there was Swarthmore, tucked away.
I realize most of my readers have never been to Swarthmore. If I had only two words to describe it, I would use "botanical paradise." Literally, the campus is a huge garden, from Parrish Beach to all the labeled plants (and there are a lot of them) to the outdoor amphitheater that's cloaked in an ambient green. It's amazing. I understand why Reese likes it so much.
Now if they only were less stingy about their financial aid to foreign students. I guess that's the price I've got to pay for an outdoor wonderland like Swat (come to think of it, Stanford, which is also gorgeous, is also not need-blind toward foreign students).
When the mosquitoes started biting, we left. My parents wanted to see Princeton anyway, so we went there next. I've talked about Princeton before, in which I said Princeton was absolutely stunning and perfect. It still is. I love Penn, but I've got to be honest. Princeton is amazing. Its buildings, its campus, everything. There is a sense of wholeness at Princeton, a majestic entity bestowed upon this world.
Well. Anyway. Time for my summaries of the three schools, then.
Penn:
Despite the rain, we got to see a lot, including above decent architecture (better than Dartmouth, Cornell, and Columbia, on par with inner-Brown and parts of Yale, which I will need to talk about later), great Locust Walk, and a small enough campus that I won't worry too much about transportation (although if you're talking small you can't beat Columbia). Close to downtown, which by the way is gorgeous—even NYC's got nothing on Philly. Also close to not-so-decent areas (run-down houses), and of course my parents are concerned about campus safety.
Swarthmore:
Half an hour away from Philly, it's relaxing and has a soothing beauty to it. Buildings—average. Admissions office is the only great building. Decent size, lots of cool plants, and bunnies! Always a plus. When you leave campus, there's a plaza right outside, so it's not too inconvenient. Not for me, though. I hate isolated places, and although Swat's not as bad as, say, Middlebury, it's still too quiet for me.
Princeton:
I've done this before, so I won't do it again, except to say that we also went to this fountain place (on the engineering and more science/tech side of campus) and it's really nice. The buildings are more modern, not as nice as the main part of campus, but it's integrated nicely, unlike Cornell (that place is a planning disaster).
As for my perfect school?
I think you know already.
Continuing on my analogy on love: I think I've mentioned this before plenty of times, but I can't say it enough. Penn is my first love. I come from a college-conscious family; my parents come from an era in China where college graduates were considered "the only future," and the government fully funded all such education. My second aunt on my dad's side bought books on the Chinese "Harvard Girl," hoping my cousin would follow in those footsteps. If you asked any of my family's friends about which colleges were "good," they would answer, in a similar order, "MIT, Stanford, UC Berkeley, Caltech, Cornell." Harvard. Yale. Big names. I knew about the prestige, but not much about where I really wanted to attend.
Falling in love with Penn is much similar to the usual way I fall in love. Something catches my curiosity, and slowly, I become so entangled in its mysteries that I find myself irrevocably in love. Maybe it's not love, but rather an enormous interest, bordering on obsession, but I like to compare it to love.
(Ironically, Owen's going to Penn.)
The first time I'd heard of Penn was in a newspaper crossword. The clue was, "How do University of Pennsylvania students usually refer to their school?" The word was five letters long, so I guessed, "UPenn."
It was the answer, but it wasn't true, although I did not learn that until much later.
Sometime after that, I had the notion that I wanted to learn more about this school. It was in Philadelphia, one of my favorite cities (aside from Toronto, obviously, and Boston, and Chicago), and I was definitely a city girl. My parents talked with me about business, about a math career, and they brought up Wharton. It was like Penn was the perfect, perfect school.
Well, my parents and I went on a one-day trip to Philadelphia some Saturday prior (more like, an eternity ago), and our main destination was, of course, Penn. My first impression of Penn (physically) and of University City was the huge metal bridge with Penn's crest printed upon it. That, and it was raining. It was raining so hard that when I got out of the car, there was a small, gushing river between the edge of the car and the curb.
The actual information session I did not remember much. I do remember it was in a huge room, and there were many, many people, from all sorts of places. Some aspects of the admissions process was talked about, mostly on what Penn was looking for, and I remember lots of mention on the dual-degree programs.
The tour, on the other hand, was quite a spectacular event. It was still raining, and we went around with umbrellas, but I could catch glimpses of lush green leaves and beautiful, castle-like buildings. It was not as exquisite as Princeton, but it had its own charm. And when I walked into Huntsman Hall, I think I really stopped breathing for a moment.
I think, at that moment, I decided that I would start wooing Penn with my love letters (i.e. application material).
We went to downtown Philadelphia next, where my mom said I would have no problem finding adequate Chinese food in case I craved some, and we saw the Liberty Bell. We also saw numerous Chinese school-kids (elementary to middle school) who were here as part of a summer camp program.
The rain had cleared up by now, and we set out for Swarthmore, as suggested by Reese. I do not understand why Reese is so excited by the possibility (which, by the way, is very unlikely, if anything) that I may be attending Swat. We drove behind a trolley car for half an hour, into what was definitely a small town, and there was Swarthmore, tucked away.
I realize most of my readers have never been to Swarthmore. If I had only two words to describe it, I would use "botanical paradise." Literally, the campus is a huge garden, from Parrish Beach to all the labeled plants (and there are a lot of them) to the outdoor amphitheater that's cloaked in an ambient green. It's amazing. I understand why Reese likes it so much.
Now if they only were less stingy about their financial aid to foreign students. I guess that's the price I've got to pay for an outdoor wonderland like Swat (come to think of it, Stanford, which is also gorgeous, is also not need-blind toward foreign students).
When the mosquitoes started biting, we left. My parents wanted to see Princeton anyway, so we went there next. I've talked about Princeton before, in which I said Princeton was absolutely stunning and perfect. It still is. I love Penn, but I've got to be honest. Princeton is amazing. Its buildings, its campus, everything. There is a sense of wholeness at Princeton, a majestic entity bestowed upon this world.
Well. Anyway. Time for my summaries of the three schools, then.
Penn:
Despite the rain, we got to see a lot, including above decent architecture (better than Dartmouth, Cornell, and Columbia, on par with inner-Brown and parts of Yale, which I will need to talk about later), great Locust Walk, and a small enough campus that I won't worry too much about transportation (although if you're talking small you can't beat Columbia). Close to downtown, which by the way is gorgeous—even NYC's got nothing on Philly. Also close to not-so-decent areas (run-down houses), and of course my parents are concerned about campus safety.
Swarthmore:
Half an hour away from Philly, it's relaxing and has a soothing beauty to it. Buildings—average. Admissions office is the only great building. Decent size, lots of cool plants, and bunnies! Always a plus. When you leave campus, there's a plaza right outside, so it's not too inconvenient. Not for me, though. I hate isolated places, and although Swat's not as bad as, say, Middlebury, it's still too quiet for me.
Princeton:
I've done this before, so I won't do it again, except to say that we also went to this fountain place (on the engineering and more science/tech side of campus) and it's really nice. The buildings are more modern, not as nice as the main part of campus, but it's integrated nicely, unlike Cornell (that place is a planning disaster).
As for my perfect school?
I think you know already.
