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.
Showing posts with label Matt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Matt. Show all posts
Monday, August 23, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
It's the Secluded Corners We Fear the Most [UPDATED]
My parents and I went to New York on Saturday, because my dad needed to see a dentist in Flushing, and afterwards we went shopping in Flushing-Chinatown (which is basically Chinatown, but needs to be differentiated from the Chinatown in Manhattan, since, well, they're in two different places). We saw this really cute Korean shop selling clothes and hairthings, and I half-dragged my parents over to the hairclips section. My mom commented on one of the hairclips, and we picked it up, but we didn't know how to wear it.
One of the sales attendant came and helped me put it on. I was slightly surprised, since he was a guy, but something else was throwing me off that I didn't even dwell too much on his gender.
After we had paid for the hairclip and he was smiling and thanking us, I finally realized.
He was tall, he was skinny, and he had that sort of Asian mop that isn't really messy because his hair is so straight.
He reminded me of Matt.
I kind of miss him, along with the rest of the graduating senior class. I've made a lot of friends among them in the past two years (in fact, I think my friends are equally divided among three classes, mainly because I don't know any freshmen this year), and I don't know if I can ever think of this school without them there. It's going to be weird, seeing Mrs. MacDonald but not being in her stat class—and even weirder without Kyle and Trevor and the rest of them there. I even miss Kyle writing his entire name, with Rev. and Dr. and suffixes, all in one (granted, he's the first one, but I'm assuming he's assuming a long lineage of boys with his exact name) on the board, and everyone else pretending to be him by writing his name on the board as well, except none of them could ever write as big as Kyle. I guess ego's a huge part of it.
In other words, I would like to have a go on another story.
Denise's parents worked in Hamilton, and they made the commute to and from Mississauga, where they lived, every day. It was not a tremendously long drive, but the traffic along the 401 was an absolute nightmare, and Denise was glad she did not have to wake up early every morning just to be stuck in a car with the A/C blasted on high and staring at the cars crawling past.
Denise, for her part, was glad that it was summer, even if it meant unbearable temperatures. There was the library for that, and the sprinklers a few minutes' walk away, designed to wash off the choking chlorine from the pool-goers' bodies (the pool was a frequently visited place for those who, unlike Denise, did not have a deep loathing of swimming), but commonly used as an attraction by itself. Already, several of her friends had arranged gatherings around local amenities such as the skating rink, and with school and its tedious work so far away, Denise and her friends were able to think just in terms of summer—nothing more.
This summer, however, Denise had a job. Her friend, Annabelle, had worked for the National Post for the past few months, canvassing—one of the few occupations that nearly all Mississauga residents admitted they despised—and had persuaded Denise to join. Denise talked to the "Boss," and through some strange sort of misunderstanding (or perhaps lack of willingness to understand), despite Denise's extreme case of shyness around strangers, the Boss agreed for Denise to come on board.
So Denise waited in front of a PetroCanada gas station, barely under the shade of the towering red and white sign, keeping her eyes open for the tell-tale dark green van (not many people liked dark green as a car color) that Annabelle said the Boss drove.
It came, at half past three (although Denise would never admit she was counting), its tinted glass making Denise even more nervous. She peered at the driver—no doubt the Boss—as the van halted in front of her, but she could not make out anything. Her need for a new pair of glasses did not help her either.
The van's door automatically slid open, and someone inside bellowed, "Get in!" Denise stuck her foot into the floor of the van and clumisly climbed in. Only after she was seated did she notice the driver, a tall, well-built man in his late thirties, and the boy in the passenger seat, a plump but by no means overweight blond who was around her age and a good deal more crass, judging by his words.
"You're Denise?" The Boss asked, rhetorically, of course. Denise nodded, wondering what trials she still had to go through, and desperately wishing she were at home, in front of her computer, chatting with her friends on IM while playing 2Moons and lamenting how much lag there was.
"Well, you gotta hurry up—no money, no honey!"
The boy next to him swore. "Can't you come up with something more original? You always say that."
"Now, now, Peter, watch your language. You don't want me telling your mommy, do you?"
"Don't talk to me about my mom!"
The Boss laughed, a nasty, nasal laugh that made Denise sick. Peter looked away, eyebrows furrowed, obviously mad but obviously helpless to the situation.
"How old are you, girl? Fourteen?" The Boss asked, still laughing.
Denise nodded, afraid her voice would come out as a squeak.
"Good, you're legal then," The Boss said, referring to the legal age to work—fourteen. "My boy here, Peter, is fifteen, so he's not much older than you."
Peter did not respond, and Denise nodded, not sure what else to say.
"We're going to pick up your friend, Annabelle, next, so why don't Peter tell you what you're supposed to do right now?"
As if on cue, Peter turned around, his face instantly full of seriousness as he described the steps Denise had to follow. It was simple, really. The objective was to get people to subscribe to the NP, and to earn a commission off people's subscriptions. The hard part was to get people to subscribe right away, and not give some flimsy excuse such as "I'll check it over and buy later"—because there was no money to be had from that.
Denise nodded along as Peter explained, not really hearing anything. She would never understand without doing first, anyway, but she did not want to appear rude. Besides, she was much too afraid to point anything out.
The van swerved to a stop in front of Annabelle's condo, and the door slid open again. Denise shuffled along her seat until she reached the other end of the van, right behind Peter, so she could not see his face anymore, and Annabelle climbed in.
"Hi, everyone," Annabelle said. Denise noted that Annabelle did not buckle her seatbelt, and the hand that had been reaching for the silver buckle fell limp. "You made it, Denise! Did Peter tell you anything yet?"
"Yeah, I—" Peter began, but Annabelle interrupted him.
"Don't believe half the things he says, Denise. He's just all talk."
Peter closed his mouth and fumed. Annabelle laughed, and so did the Boss, and Denise wanted to join in on this supposedly humorous moment, but all she could feel was a bitter taste of anxiety on her mouth.
They stopped at several more apartment buildings, and a tall, big-headed boy who said his name was Tom and another, shorter boy who said his name was Tim climbed on board. Another lanky blond by the name of Ivan also boarded with a short, childish boy, Mikael, and they started talking in Russian with Peter. The Boss shook his head, yelled at the three boys to talk in English, then started blasting his music as high as he could. The thunderous beats made Denise cringe.
At the next stop, a girl called Candy climbed on, and explained to Denise that her real name was something else in another language, but the lady who lived next door said that she did not deserve her name. Denise nodded along, her neck already stiff. They were running out of seats in the van, so Annabelle and Denise and Candy squeezed in the back with Ivan, the skinniest of the boys.
With the music still blasting from the shuddering speakers, Ivan, who sat next to Denise, started talking about his dreams, much to Denise's surprise (and possibly dismay).
"I want to be a skater," he said. "Y'know, sometimes I feel like I'm trapped inside this bubble, and I can't get out, but I don't want to get out. It's nice, all bubbly. I want to be a professional skater."
Denise was not sure how the two were linked. She looked over at Annabelle, but the other girl was already engaged in a conversation with Tom and Tim that Denise could not follow. She turned back to Ivan, who apparently enjoyed talking about strange things even if no one was really listening to him, because he was already on his next subject, how much he hated PizzaPizza and would rather eat Subway.
The van stopped one more time, and two girls came. Denise did not quite catch their names, because everyone had forgotten by now that she was new and therefore did not know anyone. They sat in the middle row, with the three boys, and Denise felt her fear stuck in her throat. She kept on looking about for police cars, afraid to be pulled over, but she was even more afraid to look strange with her head poking about, so she had to exercise her peripheral vision.
Finally, the van stopped in front of a rather affluent neighborhood, judging from the big houses, and, instead of someone else climbing in, the Boss yelled at everyone to get out. Denise awkwardly hobbled out, after Annabelle and with Ivan behind her, and stood even more awkwardly, not sure what she should do.
"Hey, Annabelle!" The Boss shouted. "Take another set of forms and show your friend along. Peter, why don't you go with them and take the other side of the street?"
Annabelle and Peter each took a clipboard and a stack of forms that Denise had spotted on the van before. Annabelle took another set, and handed it over to Denise. The other people got back on in the van, and the Boss shouted one last "I'll be back by six!" before driving away.
"Which side do you want to take?" Annabelle asked Peter.
"Either. Doesn't matter."
"Alright. Denise and I'll take the evens, and you can take the odds. Or—actually, can you take Denise with you? You're better at this than I am, so maybe it'll be better."
"Sure," Peter said. He started along the left side of the street, and Denise followed him, while Annabelle went towards the big yellow house on the right.
"So, how did you hear about the Boss?" Peter asked.
"Annabelle told me about him," Denise said. She was sure he was less interested in the answer than the opportunity to quash any awkward silences.
Peter paused, then said, "You have such a pretty voice. You should use it more often."
"Um, thanks?"
They stopped in front of the first house, and Peter rang the doorbell. They waited, trying to discern if the soft pad-pad-pad were footsteps, or their minds playing tricks on them. After a while, the door opened, and a middle-aged man in full suit attire opened the door and eyed them warily.
"Hello, sir," Peter began. "How are you today?"
"Good, thanks. What do you want?"
"Well, my name is Peter, and this is Denise, and we're with the National Post, here to introduce you to an incredible offer—"
"No, thank you. I'm not interested."
The man moved to close the door, but Peter interrupted him.
"Now, sir, it's an incredible offer. You get the newspaper every morning, delivered to your door by 6am, and the extra features sections on the weekends, and I'm sure—"
"No, thank you. I'm not interested."
"But, sir, it's only $40 for twelve weeks! That's less than—"
"Who is it, honey?" A voice, clearly female, came from inside. The man turned around and shouted, "Some kids here trying to sell me their newspaper."
The woman came to the door and looked at Peter and Denise. Then she turned to her husband and said, "A newspaper subscription won't hurt us. Who are you with?"
"National Post, m'am."
The woman nodded sagely, as though she knew all along, and Peter started on filling out the order form. The man looked on at them, annoyed, and Denise ground her molars together, her jaws tight from nervousness.
When the last details were complete, Peter thanked them again and wished them a good night. The door closed on them (rather harshly, in Denise's opinion), and the two of them went on to the next door.
"Did you get one already?" Annabelle shouted from across the street.
"Yeah! You better pick up your pace over there!" Then, he turned to Denise and asked, "What do you think?"
"I don't know," Denise said. "It's—I don't know."
They finished up their side of the street, taking in two more orders, and stopped when the street ended. Normally, Peter told Denise, they would go along the side streets as well, but there were no side streets this time, and it was such a long street, so they would just go back and wait for the Boss.
They sat there on the curb, all three of them, with Denise in the middle. Annabelle twirled her hair, playing with her split ends, and Denise watched her, fascinated, because there was nothing else to do. After a while, Annabelle turned to Denise and Peter and smiled.
"What do you guys want to do when you grow up?"
"Anything but this," Peter said, with a hint of frustration that Denise thought familiar. "Anything is better than this."
"A writer," Denise said. "I want to be a professional writer. The people who are writing the articles for the newspaper that we're trying to sell."
"Really?" Peter asked. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a newspaper person."
Denise did not ask what Annabelle wanted to be. Everyone who knew Annabelle knew that she wanted to become an artist. She was so talented, it would be a shame if she did not pursue art as her career.
They waited until the sun slipped under the tallest roofs of the houses when the van came again. It was not yet completely dark—summer in Mississauga was notoriously bright, well into the late 9 o'clock—but it was dark enough, and Denise was glad to be going home. She heaved herself into the crammed van, feeling the mass of bodies squeezed against her and the panic rising in the back of her throat again, and left the unknown neighborhood, possibly for good.
People got off, one by one, in the reverse order on which they boarded. When Annabelle left, the Boss asked Denise where she lived.
"Right by the gas station where you picked me up," Denise said.
The bright red and white PetroCanada sign was now lit, and under its light, Denise got off the van. The Boss made one last jibe at Peter—"Say good-bye—where are your manners, boy?"—and then the door closed with a thud and the van sped away. Denise stared at the tailights, that soft blend of orange-red she loved so much, and wondered if she would be on that van again.
She did sit inside the van, not just once, but many, many times. She had to admit—she was not the best salesperson, and the few orders she did manage to get was purely because people sympathized with her, rather than because they bought into what she was saying. But she relished in the people: Ivan and his mysterious, often out-of-this-world thoughts; Candy and her cheerful optimism; and even Peter, with his often foul language but nice heart. She stayed because she wanted to be with the people, and the Boss let her stay because he did not want to waste his investment on her (he had, on the first few days, hired someone to teach her the ways of the trade).
She was on another foreign street with Peter when the latter came up to her from the other side of the street and said, "Look what I found!"
Denise squinted at the shiny object in his hand. It was a golden locket on a chain.
"It's pure gold, y'know. I scratched it. Don't tell the Boss. He'll have me give it to him. I'm going to go and pawn it and see what I can get."
Denise nodded along, then, suddenly, she said, "I don't want to do this anymore."
"What? You mean, what we're doing now?"
"Yeah," Denise said.
"Why not?"
"It's just, I don't know. I just don't want to do it anymore. Like there's something out there that's telling me, I should be doing something else, not this."
"You're starting to sound like Ivan," Peter said, shaking his head. Then, spotting Denise's reaction, he quickly added, "Not that there's anything wrong with that. You just sounded like him back there."
They did not talk about it anymore, and when the Boss came to pick them up (after yelling at them for being on the same side of the street), Denise did not say anything about the golden locket. When Denise went home that night, she stared at the retreating tailights once more. She pretended that they were telling her something, because she desperately wanted to hear something—anything—resembling an answer.
The next day, Peter was not there. Denise was afraid to ask, but the Boss solved the problem for her. He told Tim, in his usual raucous manner, that "Mikael's mommy didn't want Mikael doing this anymore, and whatever Mikael's mommy does, Peter's mommy does." Tim laughed and made a joke that would have made the Boss proud, had he been any less mad, and Denise felt sick again. She was partnered with Ivan this time, who talked nonstop about bubbles on the moon, and, of course, his dream of being a professional skater.
"I can do a lot of tricks already," Ivan said. "You gotta see one day."
"One day," Denise promised.
And so the summer went by. When school was about the begin, Denise abruptly quit her job, without explaining to the Boss. She did not want to be the one fueling his temper, and she definitely did not want to receive it. Besides, Annabelle had quit a long time ago, and there was really no one left to hold her back.
She went back to her schoolwork. Grade nine was here, and with that (and supposedly high school, although Denise was in a junior high) came mandatory volunteer hours. Denise's friends were all in a frenzy to complete them as soon as possible, so they could have their summers free to work for pay, and Denise joined in as well, working in her school library, checking out books, writing labels for new books, and enjoying the perks of being a library assistant. It was, however, not enough to satisfy the 40-hour requirement the province mandated, and Denise searched for other opportunities. One of them led her to working at a local school fair for a weekend.
Her booth—wall tennis—was already occupied by another person, a boy with a baseball hat that covered his face. Denise walked over, her hands grasped tightly to the straps of her bag, and said a faint, "Hi."
The boy returned the greeting, then looked up.
"Hey, Denise! I didn't know I'd meet you here."
Denise squinted, trying to remember who the boy was. "Peter?"
"Yeah, glad you remembered my name. Sorry for the hasty leave back then—I never got a chance to explain."
"Don't worry about it," Denise said. She pulled out the plastic and metal chair, cringing as the metal legs scrapped against gravel. She felt uneasy, nervous, unsure of what to expect. The feeling settled in her stomach, unsteadily, and she kept her eyes focused ahead of her.
A little boy (most likely in grade four, Denise thought) in a bright green shirt came up to her, his hands sticky from a chocolate ice cream bar. He stared at the bright green tennis balls that matched his shirt, then at the pale pink racquets, then back at the balls.
"I wanna—how much?"
"Two tickets," Peter replied.
The boy reached into his pocket and grabbed a roll of red tickets. He counted them—one, two—then tore each off individually. He handed them to Denise, carefully, just like little kids do when they buy their first trinkets.
Peter handed him the pink racquet and four tennis balls. "Here, if you can hit them above the white circle, you get a prize."
He was referring to the chalky white circle marked on the brick school wall just for this game. The boy eyed the circle, threw his first tennis ball up, and aimed his racquet. He missed, nearly hitting Denise on the head.
"You alright?" Peter called out.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Denise said. "Here, why don't you try again? A little higher this time."
On his third try, the boy managed to make the circle. Denise smiled and handed him a prize ticket—a green one, as opposed to the red ones the boy gave her—and sent him along.
"Y'know, you nearly got killed back there," Peter said, once it became clear that no one would be visiting their booth for a while.
Denise did not look at him. "I'm not afraid of dying."
"Are you really?"
"Yes, really," Denise said. "Promise you won't tell?"
It was a reciprocal promise, one linked with stories and muddled with feelings of ought-to and ought-not. It was Peter this time who did not look at her, Peter who finally said, "Promise."
"Sometimes I'm going home from school, and I pass those really, really tall apartment buildings by our school, and I keep on wondering what it'd be like to just stand on the fourteenth floor, looking over the football field, and just—freefall. I want to know what it's like."
They sat in silence, Denise caught up in her autumn sky blue dreams, and Peter caught up in something that had a hint of autumn.
"Promise me something," Peter finally said. "Will you?"
"Sure, what is it?"
"Promise me you're not gonna—not gonna—die."
"That's silly," Denise said. "What if I'm hit by a car? I can't control that."
"Promise me you'll try. Promise?"
"All right, I promise."
They remembered to exchange emails and phone numbers this time, before they went home for the day. Denise took the piece of lined paper she was given and folded it up until she could not fold it anymore, and it became a fat wad of lined paper (and, much to her dismay, she was not able to disprove Encyclopedia Brown's statement that you can't fold a piece of paper more than seven times by hand). Then she decided that it looked ugly—it was not the clean, crisp thing she had been looking for—and unfolded and refolded it.
Summer disappeared like that, and autumn came, with its gold-orange-red maple trees bustling in the cold Mississauga air. Summer in Mississauga was hot, yes, but the autumn-turned-winter-turned-spring was cold, bone-chilling cold, cold enough for maple leaves to turn deep red. The cold came early, right around Thanksgiving (which, in Mississauga, is in October), and it left late, well into mid-May.
Denise had always minded the cold less than she did the hot. It was easier to bundle up in the cold, to wear her favorite felt hat and rabbit-fur knitted mittens, pull her long, wrap-around-twice scarf only once around her neck, and trudge through the slushy snow in her fuzzy snowboots. It snowed in autumn, occasionally, although it was much more common to see that clear, autumn blue sky—so far away, it felt as real as a fairy tale. Denise liked to climb up on the hill between her school and the library, and lie down on the grass, her head resting on her bag so she would not get ants in her hair. She would have done her homework on the hill too, if it were not for the chilling winds that swept through and blew away anything that was not heavy enough to stay put.
It was easy to stay on the hill for hours on end, but Denise did not have hours. She had to arrive home on time, or else her lies about where she was ("at the library," or "there was a club meeting") would fall apart. She always called Peter on the hill, half listening to him, half staring up at the autumn blue sky. When they ran out of things to say (which they did every time, because there was only so much happening in one day) Denise would know that it was time to go. She would say good-bye, and so would Peter, and then she would hang up, dust off her jacket, pick up her bag, sling it over her shoulder, and walk past her school and those apartment buildings that taunted her every time.
But she promised. She did not know how strong her will was, and she did not want to know.
So autumn disappeared too, and winter came and went, and spring, and summer again, and the years tumbled along. Denise graduated from her junior high (in an ugly black dress that she got for $20 from someone else because her parents could not justify spending so much money on something rather insignificant), and went into a high school that resembled a box more than a school.
. . . and there is more to this story, but I have been writing it forthree four days now, and I really, really want to just get this out there for now I have updated, but it's still far from finished, so... there will be future installments? (I've also discovered that I can't save a draft while also keeping the post published in its original format, so until I have that figured out, I'll probably finish this in Gmail or something.)
One of the sales attendant came and helped me put it on. I was slightly surprised, since he was a guy, but something else was throwing me off that I didn't even dwell too much on his gender.
After we had paid for the hairclip and he was smiling and thanking us, I finally realized.
He was tall, he was skinny, and he had that sort of Asian mop that isn't really messy because his hair is so straight.
He reminded me of Matt.
I kind of miss him, along with the rest of the graduating senior class. I've made a lot of friends among them in the past two years (in fact, I think my friends are equally divided among three classes, mainly because I don't know any freshmen this year), and I don't know if I can ever think of this school without them there. It's going to be weird, seeing Mrs. MacDonald but not being in her stat class—and even weirder without Kyle and Trevor and the rest of them there. I even miss Kyle writing his entire name, with Rev. and Dr. and suffixes, all in one (granted, he's the first one, but I'm assuming he's assuming a long lineage of boys with his exact name) on the board, and everyone else pretending to be him by writing his name on the board as well, except none of them could ever write as big as Kyle. I guess ego's a huge part of it.
In other words, I would like to have a go on another story.
Afraid to Die
It has taken me my entire life to realize that I'm not really not afraid to die—that I'm too selfish to die, and yet not selfish enough to die.Summer in Mississauga was a smoldering place, despite its relatively northern latitude. The sun beat down relentlessly, and the tall sugar maples drooped under the burning light. It was a dry kind of heat, not like that of Miami or any sea-bound city, but a heat that came from the almost poisonous UV-chocked sunlight and clear skies that belied the foundries and factories in nearby Hamilton.
Denise's parents worked in Hamilton, and they made the commute to and from Mississauga, where they lived, every day. It was not a tremendously long drive, but the traffic along the 401 was an absolute nightmare, and Denise was glad she did not have to wake up early every morning just to be stuck in a car with the A/C blasted on high and staring at the cars crawling past.
Denise, for her part, was glad that it was summer, even if it meant unbearable temperatures. There was the library for that, and the sprinklers a few minutes' walk away, designed to wash off the choking chlorine from the pool-goers' bodies (the pool was a frequently visited place for those who, unlike Denise, did not have a deep loathing of swimming), but commonly used as an attraction by itself. Already, several of her friends had arranged gatherings around local amenities such as the skating rink, and with school and its tedious work so far away, Denise and her friends were able to think just in terms of summer—nothing more.
This summer, however, Denise had a job. Her friend, Annabelle, had worked for the National Post for the past few months, canvassing—one of the few occupations that nearly all Mississauga residents admitted they despised—and had persuaded Denise to join. Denise talked to the "Boss," and through some strange sort of misunderstanding (or perhaps lack of willingness to understand), despite Denise's extreme case of shyness around strangers, the Boss agreed for Denise to come on board.
So Denise waited in front of a PetroCanada gas station, barely under the shade of the towering red and white sign, keeping her eyes open for the tell-tale dark green van (not many people liked dark green as a car color) that Annabelle said the Boss drove.
It came, at half past three (although Denise would never admit she was counting), its tinted glass making Denise even more nervous. She peered at the driver—no doubt the Boss—as the van halted in front of her, but she could not make out anything. Her need for a new pair of glasses did not help her either.
The van's door automatically slid open, and someone inside bellowed, "Get in!" Denise stuck her foot into the floor of the van and clumisly climbed in. Only after she was seated did she notice the driver, a tall, well-built man in his late thirties, and the boy in the passenger seat, a plump but by no means overweight blond who was around her age and a good deal more crass, judging by his words.
"You're Denise?" The Boss asked, rhetorically, of course. Denise nodded, wondering what trials she still had to go through, and desperately wishing she were at home, in front of her computer, chatting with her friends on IM while playing 2Moons and lamenting how much lag there was.
"Well, you gotta hurry up—no money, no honey!"
The boy next to him swore. "Can't you come up with something more original? You always say that."
"Now, now, Peter, watch your language. You don't want me telling your mommy, do you?"
"Don't talk to me about my mom!"
The Boss laughed, a nasty, nasal laugh that made Denise sick. Peter looked away, eyebrows furrowed, obviously mad but obviously helpless to the situation.
"How old are you, girl? Fourteen?" The Boss asked, still laughing.
Denise nodded, afraid her voice would come out as a squeak.
"Good, you're legal then," The Boss said, referring to the legal age to work—fourteen. "My boy here, Peter, is fifteen, so he's not much older than you."
Peter did not respond, and Denise nodded, not sure what else to say.
"We're going to pick up your friend, Annabelle, next, so why don't Peter tell you what you're supposed to do right now?"
As if on cue, Peter turned around, his face instantly full of seriousness as he described the steps Denise had to follow. It was simple, really. The objective was to get people to subscribe to the NP, and to earn a commission off people's subscriptions. The hard part was to get people to subscribe right away, and not give some flimsy excuse such as "I'll check it over and buy later"—because there was no money to be had from that.
Denise nodded along as Peter explained, not really hearing anything. She would never understand without doing first, anyway, but she did not want to appear rude. Besides, she was much too afraid to point anything out.
The van swerved to a stop in front of Annabelle's condo, and the door slid open again. Denise shuffled along her seat until she reached the other end of the van, right behind Peter, so she could not see his face anymore, and Annabelle climbed in.
"Hi, everyone," Annabelle said. Denise noted that Annabelle did not buckle her seatbelt, and the hand that had been reaching for the silver buckle fell limp. "You made it, Denise! Did Peter tell you anything yet?"
"Yeah, I—" Peter began, but Annabelle interrupted him.
"Don't believe half the things he says, Denise. He's just all talk."
Peter closed his mouth and fumed. Annabelle laughed, and so did the Boss, and Denise wanted to join in on this supposedly humorous moment, but all she could feel was a bitter taste of anxiety on her mouth.
They stopped at several more apartment buildings, and a tall, big-headed boy who said his name was Tom and another, shorter boy who said his name was Tim climbed on board. Another lanky blond by the name of Ivan also boarded with a short, childish boy, Mikael, and they started talking in Russian with Peter. The Boss shook his head, yelled at the three boys to talk in English, then started blasting his music as high as he could. The thunderous beats made Denise cringe.
At the next stop, a girl called Candy climbed on, and explained to Denise that her real name was something else in another language, but the lady who lived next door said that she did not deserve her name. Denise nodded along, her neck already stiff. They were running out of seats in the van, so Annabelle and Denise and Candy squeezed in the back with Ivan, the skinniest of the boys.
With the music still blasting from the shuddering speakers, Ivan, who sat next to Denise, started talking about his dreams, much to Denise's surprise (and possibly dismay).
"I want to be a skater," he said. "Y'know, sometimes I feel like I'm trapped inside this bubble, and I can't get out, but I don't want to get out. It's nice, all bubbly. I want to be a professional skater."
Denise was not sure how the two were linked. She looked over at Annabelle, but the other girl was already engaged in a conversation with Tom and Tim that Denise could not follow. She turned back to Ivan, who apparently enjoyed talking about strange things even if no one was really listening to him, because he was already on his next subject, how much he hated PizzaPizza and would rather eat Subway.
The van stopped one more time, and two girls came. Denise did not quite catch their names, because everyone had forgotten by now that she was new and therefore did not know anyone. They sat in the middle row, with the three boys, and Denise felt her fear stuck in her throat. She kept on looking about for police cars, afraid to be pulled over, but she was even more afraid to look strange with her head poking about, so she had to exercise her peripheral vision.
Finally, the van stopped in front of a rather affluent neighborhood, judging from the big houses, and, instead of someone else climbing in, the Boss yelled at everyone to get out. Denise awkwardly hobbled out, after Annabelle and with Ivan behind her, and stood even more awkwardly, not sure what she should do.
"Hey, Annabelle!" The Boss shouted. "Take another set of forms and show your friend along. Peter, why don't you go with them and take the other side of the street?"
Annabelle and Peter each took a clipboard and a stack of forms that Denise had spotted on the van before. Annabelle took another set, and handed it over to Denise. The other people got back on in the van, and the Boss shouted one last "I'll be back by six!" before driving away.
"Which side do you want to take?" Annabelle asked Peter.
"Either. Doesn't matter."
"Alright. Denise and I'll take the evens, and you can take the odds. Or—actually, can you take Denise with you? You're better at this than I am, so maybe it'll be better."
"Sure," Peter said. He started along the left side of the street, and Denise followed him, while Annabelle went towards the big yellow house on the right.
"So, how did you hear about the Boss?" Peter asked.
"Annabelle told me about him," Denise said. She was sure he was less interested in the answer than the opportunity to quash any awkward silences.
Peter paused, then said, "You have such a pretty voice. You should use it more often."
"Um, thanks?"
They stopped in front of the first house, and Peter rang the doorbell. They waited, trying to discern if the soft pad-pad-pad were footsteps, or their minds playing tricks on them. After a while, the door opened, and a middle-aged man in full suit attire opened the door and eyed them warily.
"Hello, sir," Peter began. "How are you today?"
"Good, thanks. What do you want?"
"Well, my name is Peter, and this is Denise, and we're with the National Post, here to introduce you to an incredible offer—"
"No, thank you. I'm not interested."
The man moved to close the door, but Peter interrupted him.
"Now, sir, it's an incredible offer. You get the newspaper every morning, delivered to your door by 6am, and the extra features sections on the weekends, and I'm sure—"
"No, thank you. I'm not interested."
"But, sir, it's only $40 for twelve weeks! That's less than—"
"Who is it, honey?" A voice, clearly female, came from inside. The man turned around and shouted, "Some kids here trying to sell me their newspaper."
The woman came to the door and looked at Peter and Denise. Then she turned to her husband and said, "A newspaper subscription won't hurt us. Who are you with?"
"National Post, m'am."
The woman nodded sagely, as though she knew all along, and Peter started on filling out the order form. The man looked on at them, annoyed, and Denise ground her molars together, her jaws tight from nervousness.
When the last details were complete, Peter thanked them again and wished them a good night. The door closed on them (rather harshly, in Denise's opinion), and the two of them went on to the next door.
"Did you get one already?" Annabelle shouted from across the street.
"Yeah! You better pick up your pace over there!" Then, he turned to Denise and asked, "What do you think?"
"I don't know," Denise said. "It's—I don't know."
They finished up their side of the street, taking in two more orders, and stopped when the street ended. Normally, Peter told Denise, they would go along the side streets as well, but there were no side streets this time, and it was such a long street, so they would just go back and wait for the Boss.
They sat there on the curb, all three of them, with Denise in the middle. Annabelle twirled her hair, playing with her split ends, and Denise watched her, fascinated, because there was nothing else to do. After a while, Annabelle turned to Denise and Peter and smiled.
"What do you guys want to do when you grow up?"
"Anything but this," Peter said, with a hint of frustration that Denise thought familiar. "Anything is better than this."
"A writer," Denise said. "I want to be a professional writer. The people who are writing the articles for the newspaper that we're trying to sell."
"Really?" Peter asked. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a newspaper person."
Denise did not ask what Annabelle wanted to be. Everyone who knew Annabelle knew that she wanted to become an artist. She was so talented, it would be a shame if she did not pursue art as her career.
They waited until the sun slipped under the tallest roofs of the houses when the van came again. It was not yet completely dark—summer in Mississauga was notoriously bright, well into the late 9 o'clock—but it was dark enough, and Denise was glad to be going home. She heaved herself into the crammed van, feeling the mass of bodies squeezed against her and the panic rising in the back of her throat again, and left the unknown neighborhood, possibly for good.
People got off, one by one, in the reverse order on which they boarded. When Annabelle left, the Boss asked Denise where she lived.
"Right by the gas station where you picked me up," Denise said.
The bright red and white PetroCanada sign was now lit, and under its light, Denise got off the van. The Boss made one last jibe at Peter—"Say good-bye—where are your manners, boy?"—and then the door closed with a thud and the van sped away. Denise stared at the tailights, that soft blend of orange-red she loved so much, and wondered if she would be on that van again.
She did sit inside the van, not just once, but many, many times. She had to admit—she was not the best salesperson, and the few orders she did manage to get was purely because people sympathized with her, rather than because they bought into what she was saying. But she relished in the people: Ivan and his mysterious, often out-of-this-world thoughts; Candy and her cheerful optimism; and even Peter, with his often foul language but nice heart. She stayed because she wanted to be with the people, and the Boss let her stay because he did not want to waste his investment on her (he had, on the first few days, hired someone to teach her the ways of the trade).
She was on another foreign street with Peter when the latter came up to her from the other side of the street and said, "Look what I found!"
Denise squinted at the shiny object in his hand. It was a golden locket on a chain.
"It's pure gold, y'know. I scratched it. Don't tell the Boss. He'll have me give it to him. I'm going to go and pawn it and see what I can get."
Denise nodded along, then, suddenly, she said, "I don't want to do this anymore."
"What? You mean, what we're doing now?"
"Yeah," Denise said.
"Why not?"
"It's just, I don't know. I just don't want to do it anymore. Like there's something out there that's telling me, I should be doing something else, not this."
"You're starting to sound like Ivan," Peter said, shaking his head. Then, spotting Denise's reaction, he quickly added, "Not that there's anything wrong with that. You just sounded like him back there."
They did not talk about it anymore, and when the Boss came to pick them up (after yelling at them for being on the same side of the street), Denise did not say anything about the golden locket. When Denise went home that night, she stared at the retreating tailights once more. She pretended that they were telling her something, because she desperately wanted to hear something—anything—resembling an answer.
The next day, Peter was not there. Denise was afraid to ask, but the Boss solved the problem for her. He told Tim, in his usual raucous manner, that "Mikael's mommy didn't want Mikael doing this anymore, and whatever Mikael's mommy does, Peter's mommy does." Tim laughed and made a joke that would have made the Boss proud, had he been any less mad, and Denise felt sick again. She was partnered with Ivan this time, who talked nonstop about bubbles on the moon, and, of course, his dream of being a professional skater.
"I can do a lot of tricks already," Ivan said. "You gotta see one day."
"One day," Denise promised.
And so the summer went by. When school was about the begin, Denise abruptly quit her job, without explaining to the Boss. She did not want to be the one fueling his temper, and she definitely did not want to receive it. Besides, Annabelle had quit a long time ago, and there was really no one left to hold her back.
She went back to her schoolwork. Grade nine was here, and with that (and supposedly high school, although Denise was in a junior high) came mandatory volunteer hours. Denise's friends were all in a frenzy to complete them as soon as possible, so they could have their summers free to work for pay, and Denise joined in as well, working in her school library, checking out books, writing labels for new books, and enjoying the perks of being a library assistant. It was, however, not enough to satisfy the 40-hour requirement the province mandated, and Denise searched for other opportunities. One of them led her to working at a local school fair for a weekend.
Her booth—wall tennis—was already occupied by another person, a boy with a baseball hat that covered his face. Denise walked over, her hands grasped tightly to the straps of her bag, and said a faint, "Hi."
The boy returned the greeting, then looked up.
"Hey, Denise! I didn't know I'd meet you here."
Denise squinted, trying to remember who the boy was. "Peter?"
"Yeah, glad you remembered my name. Sorry for the hasty leave back then—I never got a chance to explain."
"Don't worry about it," Denise said. She pulled out the plastic and metal chair, cringing as the metal legs scrapped against gravel. She felt uneasy, nervous, unsure of what to expect. The feeling settled in her stomach, unsteadily, and she kept her eyes focused ahead of her.
A little boy (most likely in grade four, Denise thought) in a bright green shirt came up to her, his hands sticky from a chocolate ice cream bar. He stared at the bright green tennis balls that matched his shirt, then at the pale pink racquets, then back at the balls.
"I wanna—how much?"
"Two tickets," Peter replied.
The boy reached into his pocket and grabbed a roll of red tickets. He counted them—one, two—then tore each off individually. He handed them to Denise, carefully, just like little kids do when they buy their first trinkets.
Peter handed him the pink racquet and four tennis balls. "Here, if you can hit them above the white circle, you get a prize."
He was referring to the chalky white circle marked on the brick school wall just for this game. The boy eyed the circle, threw his first tennis ball up, and aimed his racquet. He missed, nearly hitting Denise on the head.
"You alright?" Peter called out.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Denise said. "Here, why don't you try again? A little higher this time."
On his third try, the boy managed to make the circle. Denise smiled and handed him a prize ticket—a green one, as opposed to the red ones the boy gave her—and sent him along.
"Y'know, you nearly got killed back there," Peter said, once it became clear that no one would be visiting their booth for a while.
Denise did not look at him. "I'm not afraid of dying."
"Are you really?"
"Yes, really," Denise said. "Promise you won't tell?"
It was a reciprocal promise, one linked with stories and muddled with feelings of ought-to and ought-not. It was Peter this time who did not look at her, Peter who finally said, "Promise."
"Sometimes I'm going home from school, and I pass those really, really tall apartment buildings by our school, and I keep on wondering what it'd be like to just stand on the fourteenth floor, looking over the football field, and just—freefall. I want to know what it's like."
They sat in silence, Denise caught up in her autumn sky blue dreams, and Peter caught up in something that had a hint of autumn.
"Promise me something," Peter finally said. "Will you?"
"Sure, what is it?"
"Promise me you're not gonna—not gonna—die."
"That's silly," Denise said. "What if I'm hit by a car? I can't control that."
"Promise me you'll try. Promise?"
"All right, I promise."
They remembered to exchange emails and phone numbers this time, before they went home for the day. Denise took the piece of lined paper she was given and folded it up until she could not fold it anymore, and it became a fat wad of lined paper (and, much to her dismay, she was not able to disprove Encyclopedia Brown's statement that you can't fold a piece of paper more than seven times by hand). Then she decided that it looked ugly—it was not the clean, crisp thing she had been looking for—and unfolded and refolded it.
Summer disappeared like that, and autumn came, with its gold-orange-red maple trees bustling in the cold Mississauga air. Summer in Mississauga was hot, yes, but the autumn-turned-winter-turned-spring was cold, bone-chilling cold, cold enough for maple leaves to turn deep red. The cold came early, right around Thanksgiving (which, in Mississauga, is in October), and it left late, well into mid-May.
Denise had always minded the cold less than she did the hot. It was easier to bundle up in the cold, to wear her favorite felt hat and rabbit-fur knitted mittens, pull her long, wrap-around-twice scarf only once around her neck, and trudge through the slushy snow in her fuzzy snowboots. It snowed in autumn, occasionally, although it was much more common to see that clear, autumn blue sky—so far away, it felt as real as a fairy tale. Denise liked to climb up on the hill between her school and the library, and lie down on the grass, her head resting on her bag so she would not get ants in her hair. She would have done her homework on the hill too, if it were not for the chilling winds that swept through and blew away anything that was not heavy enough to stay put.
It was easy to stay on the hill for hours on end, but Denise did not have hours. She had to arrive home on time, or else her lies about where she was ("at the library," or "there was a club meeting") would fall apart. She always called Peter on the hill, half listening to him, half staring up at the autumn blue sky. When they ran out of things to say (which they did every time, because there was only so much happening in one day) Denise would know that it was time to go. She would say good-bye, and so would Peter, and then she would hang up, dust off her jacket, pick up her bag, sling it over her shoulder, and walk past her school and those apartment buildings that taunted her every time.
But she promised. She did not know how strong her will was, and she did not want to know.
So autumn disappeared too, and winter came and went, and spring, and summer again, and the years tumbled along. Denise graduated from her junior high (in an ugly black dress that she got for $20 from someone else because her parents could not justify spending so much money on something rather insignificant), and went into a high school that resembled a box more than a school.
. . . and there is more to this story, but I have been writing it for
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Hey, you! Yes, you.
A while ago (back in April) I wrote a post promoting equality amongst my equivalent of Gretchie's "imaginary friends." I had twenty people, because that was the most number of labels I could include, and since it's pointless if I mention someone but doesn't include their label, I just chose twenty people.
Today's lucky people are:
But before all of this, I would like to say that I have started reading the DMV booklet for my permit test, and it's so far going well. I don't know what kind of test they have though, so we'll have to see. And besides, I suck at memorization.
Also... why, why do they use clock hands for steering wheel positions, instead of diagrams? I like my digital clock just as much as the next person, and the only time I use analog clocks are when I'm trying to figure out how much time I have left in a class, and it's become second-nature to me that I don't even know the hours, just the minutes.
Anyway. Let's commence!
Amanda-Amanda's sent out a FB message to me (along with various other people) asking me if I wanted to join her on a NYC trip sometime in the summer. I do, but I have to okay it first with my parents, so I'm holding on responding just for now.
Camel-I don't think I'll ever have another class with Camel. He's being boring and taking Physics B and Calc AB, and somehow I don't think he's going to take AP Lit or any of my other classes. Doesn't sound like him. We don't really talk outside of communicating with Nyx, so I guess we won't really talk ever again.
Dora-Right! Movies, possibly. I still have to get back to her on that as well. So many things happening this summer! I'm glad that summer's finally here. There's definitely less stress right now, which is good, but I think I'm going to be looking forward for school to start, surprisingly.
Gretchen-Can you believe she's behind Irving, of all people, in my tag-list? I can't. Well, I suppose it's because of all the math team things where I mention Irving because he's usually doing something outrageous (but usually less so to some extent) with Mario. Anyway, Gretchen and I need to land in Japan soon. I'm getting a little air-sick right now.
Irving-Mentioned above, and that I probably won't ever see him again, unless I get into Hahvahd (unlikely) or get into MIT (also unlikely) and he happens to bike by because I can't bike by him since I don't know how to bike.
Joss-He still has spiky hair, even though he cut it shorter earlier. I don't know what else to say of him. Not very exciting right now.
Mario-Oh, Mario. What to say of him? I think he's going to have superiority issues next year in math team. To think that he said of Irving's behavior during Moody's, "I think he had trouble realizing who was the real boss. Next year there won't be a question as to who's in charge." No doubt. It's not him.
Matt-Super skinniness aside, he's leaving as well! I somehow cannot process that, even though I could process Irving and Owen and Melissa leaving. I guess it's because he wasn't away on the senior internships, so I haven't really felt him leave. I'm really going to miss him, even if he doesn't talk much.
Melissa-Ambivalent on her leaving. I think things are going to be a lot quieter without her, which is both good and bad. We won't have her cookies anymore as well, so that could be bad.
Micro-I'm trying to communicate to him in sign language, but neither he nor Sonny understands it, so Yuma and I are having a particularly difficult time.
Mogley-Didn't know he was taking Econ next year. Maybe we'll be in the same class again. He had English scheduling problems earlier, and I told him, "Just get AP English," to which he said, "No way, me?" Our English teacher agreed with his sentiment, and not just because of his horrible grammar (I still can't forgive him for writing lists without commas).
Nyx-Has a super early arena time but has no need for it because of her singletons. I'm slightly envious, but then I remember that no matter who I have they're either not bad or they're unavoidable, so I don't care that much either. And I'll probably have physics with Tea (unless it runs out) so it doesn't concern me very, very much.
Owen-Writing about Owen here reminds me of his alpaca. Also my "choose your own adventure" story. Otherwise he doesn't remind me of anything except that I don't know who's going to keep Dino well-oiled in the next year. We might see an increase in system crashes then.
Reese-I'm talking to Reese on Gchat a lot now. He's using Digsby, which is apparently similar to the device that Tea uses except for PCs. I shall have to try that out soon.
Sonny-He's hilarious, even if he doesn't mean it. He also can't understand sign language or exaggerated waving. Also, I found out how freaky he looked while sunbathing with Scott and the like. A row of guys lying down on the ground in the courtyard just looks weird.
Stella-I don't talk to her nearly as much now. I should. In fact, I will talk to her today as soon as I get this Digsby thing working.
Tamir-Why did I even first mention him? Why do I keep on mentioning him? I don't know. Whatever.
Tybalt-From what I've heard from Kathrya lately, he's exceedingly sweet. This disproves my best friend from back before's theory that all guys are jerks. But then again, I knew that a long time ago. Besides, it doesn't disprove the theory that some guys (ambiguity on how many) are jerks.
Vincent-I need to go over to his house more often if it means more Clue time. I'm addicted to the game. It's unhealthy, I think, both physically and emotionally.
Yuma-I never knew he was so good at go, but then again, Yuma is amazing at a lot of things. We definitely need him on our Moody's team next year. Also, Mrs. MacDonald said that she was looking forward to seeing me (and presumably everyone on our team) next year for Moody's. I think that basically guarantees that, if we don't do something stupid and smoke pot in front of the principal or something like that, we're going to be on a team (if not on a team together) next year.
Whew. Now let's see if anything on my "Noteworthy" list looks better now.
Today's lucky people are:
- Amanda
- Camel
- Dora
- Gretchen
- Irving
- Joss
- Mario
- Matt
- Melissa
- Micro
- Mogley
- Nyx
- Owen
- Reese
- Sonny
- Stella
- Tamir
- Tybalt
- Vincent
- Yuma
But before all of this, I would like to say that I have started reading the DMV booklet for my permit test, and it's so far going well. I don't know what kind of test they have though, so we'll have to see. And besides, I suck at memorization.
Also... why, why do they use clock hands for steering wheel positions, instead of diagrams? I like my digital clock just as much as the next person, and the only time I use analog clocks are when I'm trying to figure out how much time I have left in a class, and it's become second-nature to me that I don't even know the hours, just the minutes.
Anyway. Let's commence!
Amanda-Amanda's sent out a FB message to me (along with various other people) asking me if I wanted to join her on a NYC trip sometime in the summer. I do, but I have to okay it first with my parents, so I'm holding on responding just for now.
Camel-I don't think I'll ever have another class with Camel. He's being boring and taking Physics B and Calc AB, and somehow I don't think he's going to take AP Lit or any of my other classes. Doesn't sound like him. We don't really talk outside of communicating with Nyx, so I guess we won't really talk ever again.
Dora-Right! Movies, possibly. I still have to get back to her on that as well. So many things happening this summer! I'm glad that summer's finally here. There's definitely less stress right now, which is good, but I think I'm going to be looking forward for school to start, surprisingly.
Gretchen-Can you believe she's behind Irving, of all people, in my tag-list? I can't. Well, I suppose it's because of all the math team things where I mention Irving because he's usually doing something outrageous (but usually less so to some extent) with Mario. Anyway, Gretchen and I need to land in Japan soon. I'm getting a little air-sick right now.
Irving-Mentioned above, and that I probably won't ever see him again, unless I get into Hahvahd (unlikely) or get into MIT (also unlikely) and he happens to bike by because I can't bike by him since I don't know how to bike.
Joss-He still has spiky hair, even though he cut it shorter earlier. I don't know what else to say of him. Not very exciting right now.
Mario-Oh, Mario. What to say of him? I think he's going to have superiority issues next year in math team. To think that he said of Irving's behavior during Moody's, "I think he had trouble realizing who was the real boss. Next year there won't be a question as to who's in charge." No doubt. It's not him.
Matt-Super skinniness aside, he's leaving as well! I somehow cannot process that, even though I could process Irving and Owen and Melissa leaving. I guess it's because he wasn't away on the senior internships, so I haven't really felt him leave. I'm really going to miss him, even if he doesn't talk much.
Melissa-Ambivalent on her leaving. I think things are going to be a lot quieter without her, which is both good and bad. We won't have her cookies anymore as well, so that could be bad.
Micro-I'm trying to communicate to him in sign language, but neither he nor Sonny understands it, so Yuma and I are having a particularly difficult time.
Mogley-Didn't know he was taking Econ next year. Maybe we'll be in the same class again. He had English scheduling problems earlier, and I told him, "Just get AP English," to which he said, "No way, me?" Our English teacher agreed with his sentiment, and not just because of his horrible grammar (I still can't forgive him for writing lists without commas).
Nyx-Has a super early arena time but has no need for it because of her singletons. I'm slightly envious, but then I remember that no matter who I have they're either not bad or they're unavoidable, so I don't care that much either. And I'll probably have physics with Tea (unless it runs out) so it doesn't concern me very, very much.
Owen-Writing about Owen here reminds me of his alpaca. Also my "choose your own adventure" story. Otherwise he doesn't remind me of anything except that I don't know who's going to keep Dino well-oiled in the next year. We might see an increase in system crashes then.
Reese-I'm talking to Reese on Gchat a lot now. He's using Digsby, which is apparently similar to the device that Tea uses except for PCs. I shall have to try that out soon.
Sonny-He's hilarious, even if he doesn't mean it. He also can't understand sign language or exaggerated waving. Also, I found out how freaky he looked while sunbathing with Scott and the like. A row of guys lying down on the ground in the courtyard just looks weird.
Stella-I don't talk to her nearly as much now. I should. In fact, I will talk to her today as soon as I get this Digsby thing working.
Tamir-Why did I even first mention him? Why do I keep on mentioning him? I don't know. Whatever.
Tybalt-From what I've heard from Kathrya lately, he's exceedingly sweet. This disproves my best friend from back before's theory that all guys are jerks. But then again, I knew that a long time ago. Besides, it doesn't disprove the theory that some guys (ambiguity on how many) are jerks.
Vincent-I need to go over to his house more often if it means more Clue time. I'm addicted to the game. It's unhealthy, I think, both physically and emotionally.
Yuma-I never knew he was so good at go, but then again, Yuma is amazing at a lot of things. We definitely need him on our Moody's team next year. Also, Mrs. MacDonald said that she was looking forward to seeing me (and presumably everyone on our team) next year for Moody's. I think that basically guarantees that, if we don't do something stupid and smoke pot in front of the principal or something like that, we're going to be on a team (if not on a team together) next year.
Whew. Now let's see if anything on my "Noteworthy" list looks better now.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Wherefore Art Thou, Japan?
I am on a school computer right now, and the screen is flickering. I don't know why, but it has happened before, and when I told the librarian and she came over, it stopped. Then, when she left, it started again. It is most annoying.
Anyway, I had this wonderful post yesterday about how Japan might as well be in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, because we're not getting anywhere, when I realized, no, we're in the Pacific Ocean right now, and technically Japan is in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, if not directly in the middle, so it's not as... argumentative. I didn't get to finish that post though, so here I am today, barely finishing my English essay (because of a lot of due date delays, I had plenty of time to work and read GWTW), beginning the first part of the voyage (which is us on the plane) because I can't bear the trip on hiatus anymore.
Besides, I will be gone tomorrow and over the weekend to visit colleges, namely Williams and McGill (and really just McGill, but Williams is along the way), and I won't have access to the Internet, so I might as well write something now.
Several hours later, on my home computer, with no flashing screen.
First of all, I need to ask Julie (and any other reader here): do you want to come on the trip as well? I still need to draw pictures as well (especially of Bruney, I'll get around to that one day).
Secondly, this will be a pictureless post because I have lots of random work to do.
So, to recap, Gretchen and Tea and I are on a plane headed for Japan, our next destination. We had just recently left Chile, and if you wish to read about our adventures there, you can click the "Round The World Trip" log, featured as a link above. There, I've archived all the links to the relevant posts we have written on the subject. Right now, however, we're aboard the plane, and despite what you may have heard about no viable source of communication on planes, there's some strange source of WiFi on here, and so we're not questioning it as all of us relax and check our random sites that we always check online.
Bruney is coming straight from home and meeting us at Japan, where we will have a great time. I'm sure of it. I mean, just the food itself sounds great, and if the food is good, nothing else can go wrong, right? But since we will be on the plane for a whilesince just as it's got WiFi, it's also got the ability to indefinitely suspend in midair until we declare it not to do so, we decided to catch up on some news.
Here's what I found out (not sure about Gretch or Tea):
1) Matt and I are interviewing/surveying our people next week during period 7. Here's some of the classes we may be dropping by (we will be, but I'm not sure which dates)—AP English, Latin 2, three western humanities classes, and numerous others. Yes, these are ournot so randomly chosen classes. There are a lot of freshmen and sophomores. Hmm. I wonder why?
2) Reese can be quite adamant when he wants something. Or annoying. I suppose it depends on how you look at the situation. Also, he's quite savvy with Naviance (not sure if it's a good thing), and Argon has never heard of it before. Never? I guess people surprise you all the time. Or maybe he'll just fall into its evil clutches by the time junior year runs along.
3) This. Today. During physics. It looks painful.
MID—
Rhett: 2
Scarlett: 2.5
Anyway, I had this wonderful post yesterday about how Japan might as well be in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, because we're not getting anywhere, when I realized, no, we're in the Pacific Ocean right now, and technically Japan is in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, if not directly in the middle, so it's not as... argumentative. I didn't get to finish that post though, so here I am today, barely finishing my English essay (because of a lot of due date delays, I had plenty of time to work and read GWTW), beginning the first part of the voyage (which is us on the plane) because I can't bear the trip on hiatus anymore.
Besides, I will be gone tomorrow and over the weekend to visit colleges, namely Williams and McGill (and really just McGill, but Williams is along the way), and I won't have access to the Internet, so I might as well write something now.
Several hours later, on my home computer, with no flashing screen.
First of all, I need to ask Julie (and any other reader here): do you want to come on the trip as well? I still need to draw pictures as well (especially of Bruney, I'll get around to that one day).
Secondly, this will be a pictureless post because I have lots of random work to do.
So, to recap, Gretchen and Tea and I are on a plane headed for Japan, our next destination. We had just recently left Chile, and if you wish to read about our adventures there, you can click the "Round The World Trip" log, featured as a link above. There, I've archived all the links to the relevant posts we have written on the subject. Right now, however, we're aboard the plane, and despite what you may have heard about no viable source of communication on planes, there's some strange source of WiFi on here, and so we're not questioning it as all of us relax and check our random sites that we always check online.
Bruney is coming straight from home and meeting us at Japan, where we will have a great time. I'm sure of it. I mean, just the food itself sounds great, and if the food is good, nothing else can go wrong, right? But since we will be on the plane for a while
Here's what I found out (not sure about Gretch or Tea):
1) Matt and I are interviewing/surveying our people next week during period 7. Here's some of the classes we may be dropping by (we will be, but I'm not sure which dates)—AP English, Latin 2, three western humanities classes, and numerous others. Yes, these are our
2) Reese can be quite adamant when he wants something. Or annoying. I suppose it depends on how you look at the situation. Also, he's quite savvy with Naviance (not sure if it's a good thing), and Argon has never heard of it before. Never? I guess people surprise you all the time. Or maybe he'll just fall into its evil clutches by the time junior year runs along.
3) This. Today. During physics. It looks painful.
MID—
Rhett: 2
Scarlett: 2.5
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Now Or Never
I don't believe in fairy tales, too cynical . . . I'm not gonna live forever, said I'm not gonna live forever—gotta make it now or never.—Forever or Never, Cinema Bizarre
Matt and I decided upon a project where we would interview various period 7 classes (because that was when we had stat, and when we could be around the school interviewing people in other classes) and ask them about their opinions on the increase of various department budgets. So we tried to follow a statistical approach, and randomly chose five classes out of every group (we had separated them by AP/honors, A-, and B-levels). This process was much flawed by the senior interns, whom I have not talked about extensively yet but I may get to in the future.
Anyway, for our AP/honors classes, we had chosen notoriously senior-infested classes such as AP environmental and AP Spanish. This posed a problem, because we needed at least six people from each class, so Matt said we could just, uh, choose another class that fitted our needs. It was not random, but, hey, it was the best we could do without physically tracking down the seniors in their intern positions.
(Later on, I asked Reese how many people were in his AP Spanish class, and he said two, including him. So Spanish was definitely out.)
Also, speaking of internships, the Paperclip Job Shadow "event" is coming up soon, and apparently my name was called on Friday, but I did not hear because I was in the hallway at the time (trying to navigate from one end of the school to the other in under five minutes). So I was informed this morning that there would be a workshop for job shadow participants during lunch, which I promptly forgot (until lunch was almost over, and I was in the library with Argon, who informed me that he wrote his elemental symbol on his tests for his chem class now). Luckily, I was able to schedule another appointment during the first half of period 7 to make it up. And, hopefully, I won't forget the second workshop (résumé writing, what fun) tomorrow.
(Clara and Ariadne and I looked over some of those mock-résumés, and they were ridiculous. Varsity basketball captain, founder of the Ultimate Frisbee club, various trips around the world to volunteer—with everything funded by scholarship money, high honors, 3.8/4.0 GPAs, NHS, various other academic clubs and activities, various other community service clubs and activities. Ridiculous, I say. I thought mock-résumés were supposed to be average content-wise so we could feel good about ourselves and be confident with the résumés we came up with.)
Today was also my English class' designated reading period (for the week). I brought in Gone with the Wind, as I mentioned yesterday, and this book has well over 1000 pages. We had around 45 minutes to read, and after those 45 minutes, I accomplished 26 pages. Only 1000 or so pages more to go. Yippee. (Can you believe "yippee" is a word, but "yay" is not, according to spellcheck?)
Non sequitur (a word I learned from Reese earlier today, as we were discussing his Spanish class, Spanish in general, how little I know of the Spanish language, and typing Spanish using a Spanish keyboard), I was bored yesterday, so I typed "forever" in my Google search bar. Then I decided to add "or never" to it, and searched the result, and came up with Cinema Bizarre's song, Forever or Never, which I found fascinating. So I searched the band up, and discovered the Eurovision contest, and last year's winner, who is absolutely the most adorable violinist I have ever seen (the most adorable human being I reserve for someone else who happens to not be a violinist).
I spent over two hours on various Eurovision finalist songs, including this Ukraine one, which is bizarre (the refrain is apparently "I want to see Russia goodbye"?), to put it mildly, and this Russian one, which features a girl popping out of a piano.
I feel it everyday, it's all the same. It brings me down all the time but I'm the one to blame.—Over and Over, Three Days Grace
MID—
Scarlett: 0
Rhett: 0.5
Matt and I decided upon a project where we would interview various period 7 classes (because that was when we had stat, and when we could be around the school interviewing people in other classes) and ask them about their opinions on the increase of various department budgets. So we tried to follow a statistical approach, and randomly chose five classes out of every group (we had separated them by AP/honors, A-, and B-levels). This process was much flawed by the senior interns, whom I have not talked about extensively yet but I may get to in the future.
Anyway, for our AP/honors classes, we had chosen notoriously senior-infested classes such as AP environmental and AP Spanish. This posed a problem, because we needed at least six people from each class, so Matt said we could just, uh, choose another class that fitted our needs. It was not random, but, hey, it was the best we could do without physically tracking down the seniors in their intern positions.
(Later on, I asked Reese how many people were in his AP Spanish class, and he said two, including him. So Spanish was definitely out.)
Also, speaking of internships, the Paperclip Job Shadow "event" is coming up soon, and apparently my name was called on Friday, but I did not hear because I was in the hallway at the time (trying to navigate from one end of the school to the other in under five minutes). So I was informed this morning that there would be a workshop for job shadow participants during lunch, which I promptly forgot (until lunch was almost over, and I was in the library with Argon, who informed me that he wrote his elemental symbol on his tests for his chem class now). Luckily, I was able to schedule another appointment during the first half of period 7 to make it up. And, hopefully, I won't forget the second workshop (résumé writing, what fun) tomorrow.
(Clara and Ariadne and I looked over some of those mock-résumés, and they were ridiculous. Varsity basketball captain, founder of the Ultimate Frisbee club, various trips around the world to volunteer—with everything funded by scholarship money, high honors, 3.8/4.0 GPAs, NHS, various other academic clubs and activities, various other community service clubs and activities. Ridiculous, I say. I thought mock-résumés were supposed to be average content-wise so we could feel good about ourselves and be confident with the résumés we came up with.)
Today was also my English class' designated reading period (for the week). I brought in Gone with the Wind, as I mentioned yesterday, and this book has well over 1000 pages. We had around 45 minutes to read, and after those 45 minutes, I accomplished 26 pages. Only 1000 or so pages more to go. Yippee. (Can you believe "yippee" is a word, but "yay" is not, according to spellcheck?)
Non sequitur (a word I learned from Reese earlier today, as we were discussing his Spanish class, Spanish in general, how little I know of the Spanish language, and typing Spanish using a Spanish keyboard), I was bored yesterday, so I typed "forever" in my Google search bar. Then I decided to add "or never" to it, and searched the result, and came up with Cinema Bizarre's song, Forever or Never, which I found fascinating. So I searched the band up, and discovered the Eurovision contest, and last year's winner, who is absolutely the most adorable violinist I have ever seen (the most adorable human being I reserve for someone else who happens to not be a violinist).
I spent over two hours on various Eurovision finalist songs, including this Ukraine one, which is bizarre (the refrain is apparently "I want to see Russia goodbye"?), to put it mildly, and this Russian one, which features a girl popping out of a piano.
I feel it everyday, it's all the same. It brings me down all the time but I'm the one to blame.—Over and Over, Three Days Grace
MID—
Scarlett: 0
Rhett: 0.5
Monday, May 17, 2010
Belle Noire
I've had this idea for a very, very long time, but I've never quite finished it. Unlike my yeah-we'll-run-around-with-swords-and-try-not-to-kill-each-other story though, I really want to finish this one. There are some minor problems. The most not-minor (but still minor, I hope) one is that I have no idea if it's even good so far. I mean, usually I write without caring how other people think about it (for the most part) because it's more a catharsis (yay, vocab word) of my mind, but this one is a remodeling of an existing piece, so I'm not sure if I should revamp it even more or let it be. But here's what I have so far, and you can judge it as it is (it's only half complete, so I'll add explanatory notes at the end).
[Alice enters.]
ALICE: I come from a world of black and white—of darkness and light. I come to this world blind of emotion and blind to pain. For every step I take, I step upon an ancestor's bones—for my ascent to the silvery throne is a path ridden with secrets and forebodings.
[Alice freezes. Ralph enters.]
RALPH: I hold my soul with utmost priority; with even more pride. I will defend my heart and all which it trusts, until I reach the land of darkness, where trust is shattered and hope abandoned and even the most minuscule of doubt magnifies to breath-taking errors.
ALICE: But when I close my eyes...
RALPH: But when I close my eyes...
ALICE: I see a world of autumn blues—of ocean reds—of grass golds—
RALPH: I see a world of light, with no more fear and no more perfidy—
ALICE and RALPH: This is my wish.
[Alice and Ralph exit at separate ends of the stage.]
[Ralph and Joss enters.]
JOSS: (taps Ralph on the head) That was unnecessary. She didn't deserve that.
RALPH: Are you my friend or hers?
JOSS: Hey, calm down. I'm not saying she was right or anything, but to just up and call her a liar in front of everyone else, without giving her a chance to explain herself—that was uncalled for.
RALPH: I don't care.
JOSS: Yeah, you don't care. You've never cared about anything.
RALPH: Why do you care so much?
JOSS: Because people have been talking behind your back, calling you—
RALPH: Look, I don't care what they say.
JOSS: You may not care, but some people—
RALPH: (turns to face Joss and holds him by one shoulder) Is this about you? Is this because you don't want to be around me, because you're afraid of what others would say if they see you associated with me?
JOSS: Hey, I never said—
RALPH: You've never said a lot of things. Always been too afraid to say them.
[Ralph spins around and stalks off stage.]
JOSS: Jeez, what's your problem?
[Justin enters.]
JUSTIN: Are you talking to me, Ritchell?
JOSS: No, Sandler. Mind your own business.
JUSTIN: Don't talk me like that. Your bodyguard's not here with you now, is he? I'm looking for him—where'd he go?
JOSS: Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you. Why do you want to find him anyway? All you're going to do is fight.
JUSTIN: Fight, yeah, I will. He insulted Skye and called her a liar. The Wextons are all a bunch of trash-talkers. I'm not going to let him get away that easily.
JOSS: You couldn't just talk to him maturely?
JUSTIN: (holds Joss by his collar) You want to fight? I know what you are—you're a coward, that's what you are.
[Other people come gathered around, chanting and taunting.]
CROWD: Fight! Fight! Fight!
[Miguel Hunter enters.]
MIGUEL: What is going on here? Boys!
[Justin lets go of Joss reluctantly.]
MIGUEL: You boys have caused enough trouble already, you two and that Wexton boy. I can't take it anymore. I will report this to the principal today, but if I catch any of you fighting again, I will have to arrest you. And mind you, that mark against you will stay with you forever.
JOSS and JUSTIN: Yes, Officer Hunter.
MIGUEL: Now run along, everyone!
[All exit except Joss.]
JOSS: Coward, me? Huh.
[Joss exits.]
[Avery and Joss enters.]
AVERY: (starts talking even before he walks on stage) So what did you say to Ralph? He walked past me looking like he's ready to kill someone.
JOSS: I just said that the whole Skye incident was wholly unnecessary. He overreacted.
AVERY: What really happened? I mean, I've heard a bit here and there, but—oh, look, here she is herself.
[Skye enters.]
AVERY: Hey, Skye!
SKYE: (waves) Hi Avery, hi Joss.
AVERY: What's up?
SKYE: Not much. I've been busy—oh, there's a party at Alice's house on Saturday night. Do you want to come? You can come too, if you want, Joss.
AVERY: You really think that's a good idea? We're not exactly the most loved boys at the Leightly household, Joss and I.
SKYE: It's a masquerade-themed party, so no one will notice who you are. Besides, Alice's parents won't be home that weekend. That's why the party's at her house.
AVERY: All right, we'll think about it.
JOSS: Yeah.
SKYE: Well, I hope to see you two there. Bye, Avery. Bye, Joss.
[Skye exits.]
AVERY: A party, huh. Well. The perfect time to bring Ralph along.
JOSS: Are you out of your mind, Avery? If the Leightlys ever find out, they'll probably come after the Wextons with guns in hand.
AVERY: Relax! We've got costumes, no one's going to recognize Ralph. And we need to get Ralph into the social scene somehow. How else is he ever going to stop being a jerk all the time?
JOSS: Just so you know, I think this is a stupid idea.
AVERY: Don't worry about it, Joss. If we're lucky, maybe we'll find Ralph a girlfriend as well. It'll do him well, soften him up.
[All exit.]
[Heath enters.]
HEATH: (a flower in hand, plucking off the petals) She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves—
[Alice enters.]
HEATH: Hi there, Alice.
ALICE: Hi.
HEATH: I—uh, really liked your performance yesterday. You played Juliet really well, like you were meant to play that role.
ALICE: Thanks.
HEATH: So, uh—
[Henry Leightly enters.]
HENRY: Heath, my boy! You're here courting my daughter again?
HEATH: Hi, Mr. Leightly. Alice and I were just talking about the play last night.
HENRY: Oh, yes, Romeo and Juliet. I reckon that was one of the most beautiful shows I'd ever seen, isn't that so, Alice?
ALICE: I suppose so.
HENRY: And Heath, how are your parents doing? Business still well, I hope?
HEATH: Yes, everything is fine. Dad's thinking of starting a new branch in Seattle next month, if everything goes well.
HENRY: That's splendid! And you, school coming along nicely?
HEATH: Soccer season is just starting, and I'm captain of the varsity team this year. We're hoping for a great season.
HENRY: That's my boy! (slaps Heath on the back) Well, I'll leave you kids to yourselves. Don't get too carried away.
[Henry chuckles and exits.]
HEATH: I—
ALICE: (at the same time) I—
HEATH: You first.
ALICE: Oh, I just—I'm tired, that's all.
HEATH: Oh. Well, would you like me to leave?
ALICE: I'm afraid I won't be much company. I'll see you this weekend.
HEATH: Okay, later.
[Alice exits.]
HEATH: (twirls flower again) She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me—oh, she—(plucks off last petal)—what am I doing? This is stupid.
[Heath throws the flower on the ground and exits.]
[Avery, Joss, and Ralph enter with costumes, with the latter two on opposite sides of Avery.]
RALPH: This is the most pointless thing I've ever done in my life.
JOSS: Oh, stop being so cynical. It's a party, you're supposed to have fun.
RALPH: I'm so sorry, my idea of fun is different from yours. What, the people talking behind my back are also making fun of that? Why do you even bother talking to me then?
AVERY: Ralph, Joss, calm down, both of you. Joss is right, we're supposed to have fun, and Ralph, there's not only one way to party. Maybe you'll find your fun here, but you'll never know if you don't try.
RALPH: The great Avery Kanswell is being philosophical now.
AVERY: I can be if I want to be.
RALPH: Where are we going anyway? You haven't told me yet.
AVERY: Oh, close enough. You'll see once we get there.
JOSS: If we ever get there, that is. You sure we're not lost, Avery? It's supposed to be a fifteen minute walk, and we must have been walking for at least thirty minutes.
AVERY: Don't you trust me?
RALPH: At the moment, no.
AVERY: Oh yeah, why don't you two team up on me, huh? The only thing you're agreeing on is disagreeing with me?
JOSS: I'd be a lot more willing to agree with you if we're where we're supposed to be.
RALPH: I'd never agree with you.
[Faint music starts up in the background, and getting louder with each step they take.]
AVERY: Okay, okay! We're almost there—no, we're here already!
RALPH: (looks around) This is the place? Isn't this—
AVERY: Who cares what it is, we're here. Put on your masks. It's a masquerade, after all.
RALPH: But this is—
AVERY: It is, it isn't, who cares?
[Avery pushes Ralph off stage. Joss exits.]
[Alice, Heath, Justin, Skye, and several others are already there, all in costume. Avery, Joss, and Ralph enter discreetly from the side. Avery and Joss try to drag Ralph to dance, but he refuses, and they go on without him. Alice is standing by the punch bowl, not doing anything. Ralph approaches her.]
RALPH: Got an extra cup?
ALICE: They're by the chips.
RALPH: Hn, thank you.
ALICE: I haven't seen you before.
RALPH: I wouldn't think so, unless you go to masquerades every other week.
ALICE: No, at any other party. I haven't seen you before.
RALPH: Maybe you missed me.
ALICE: No one else ever drinks before they at least dance a while. It's too early to be drinking.
RALPH: Maybe you missed me the times before because I was too early.
ALICE: No, I wouldn't have. I'm always here.
RALPH: Always? Why, you don't dance?
ALICE: I'd rather not.
RALPH: What are you doing at a party then?
ALICE: I—my friends are here. What are you doing here?
RALPH: Friends. Those who you think know you the best really know nothing of you at all.
ALICE: Do you think so? What do your friends think of you?
RALPH: (pause) A stuck-up, cold-hearted jerk, I'll bet.
ALICE: What do you think of yourself then?
RALPH: I—I don't know. (pause) I'd like to think I'm a fighter.
ALICE: A fighter? Against what?
RALPH: This world. Everyone in it. Sometimes even my friends.
ALICE: But you still see them as your friends.
RALPH: Yeah. I—there isn't anyone else who'd listen to me but them.
ALICE: That must count for something, doesn't it?
RALPH: What about your friends? Why aren't you dancing with them?
ALICE: They like parties. I don't.
RALPH: Why, too loud for you?
ALICE: No, it's just—too many people. I don't like it very much.
RALPH: But you wouldn't fight against your friends? Even if they wanted something you didn't?
ALICE: It doesn't matter anyway.
RALPH: They won't ever know if you don't tell them.
ALICE: No, no. I don't mind, really.
SKYE: (from the other side of the stage, shouting) Alice!
ALICE: Coming! (to Ralph) I'm sorry, I must leave now.
[Alice walks away to where Skye is, and Avery walks over to Ralph.]
AVERY: Hey, Ralph, having fun yet?
RALPH: As much as I'd expected.
[Justin, who was walking by, hears them and realizes that Ralph is here. He walks over to Skye's group as well.]
JUSTIN: (mutters to himself) Wexton, to have the guts! Oh, I'll get you one day, just you wait.
AVERY: Aw, come on. We saw you talking to a pretty girl that was just here. What's her name?
RALPH: Didn't ask.
AVERY: Really? Ralph, you've got to do better than that! You have to ask for her name and number. How else are you ever going to talk to her again?
RALPH: I don't plan to talk to her again anyway.
AVERY: You're such a bore. All right, let's get going then. Joss might've had too much to drink. He's been hitting on Melissa all night long. Besides, it's getting late, and I have an English paper I have to write for Monday.
[Ralph, Avery, and Joss exit.]
HEATH: Alice, want to dance with me?
ALICE: I'm sorry, my head hurts. I think I'll go to bed early. Make sure everything's in order for me, will you?
HEATH: Okay, Alice. I will. Hope you get better soon.
ALICE: Thanks.
[Alice exits. Heath and others linger for a while, then all exit.]
This is basically the end of the first act (if you recall from the original R&J, there were five scenes in the first act). I feel as if it's a bit too close to the original in structure, but some of the plot is really different, so I'm not sure if I need this kind of structure so that it can even pass as a retake on the classic.
Also, plot-wise, I'm thinking some people will die (obviously), some people will hook up (even more obvious), and there will be lots of hate and misunderstanding but lots of opportunities to make it all up (but whether anyone takes those chances, I'm not sure yet). So far, it's weird and mostly preliminary.
And... school events. NO MORE AP FINALS. Just finished my free-response for chem today, and so the APs are officially over. This year, anyway, and the projects are starting to roll in (Matt and I are going to conduct a survey and it's going to be amazing and we will have all sorts of fancy tests). But it's going to be just splendid.
I've also borrowed Gone with the Wind from our school's library, and I plan on reading that in my free-reading-period tomorrow during English. I've heard wonderful things about the book, so I can't wait. It's a sizable book though (rather on the heavy side) so I'll have to find some other time to finish it all (before June 4th comes along), but I should be able to manage. Hopefully.
Belle Noire
In memory of our sixteenth summer. [An adaptation of Romeo and Juliet.]
CHARACTERS:
Alice Leightly as Juliet
Henry Leightly as Lord Capulet
Marissa Leightly as Lady Capulet
Justin Sandler as Tybalt
Ralph Wexton as Romeo
Martin Wexton as Lord Montague
Edna Wexton as Lady Montague
Joss Ritchell as Benvolio
Avery Kanswell as Mercutio
Miguel Hunter as Prince Escalus
Chronos Sakanet as Friar Lawrence
Tobi Darkson as Friar John
Catherine Smith as the Nurse
Christopher Handoff as Balthasar
Heath Florence as Paris
Skye Padler as Rosaline
Allison Saint-Cross as the Apothecary
PROLOGUE:
[Alice enters.]
ALICE: I come from a world of black and white—of darkness and light. I come to this world blind of emotion and blind to pain. For every step I take, I step upon an ancestor's bones—for my ascent to the silvery throne is a path ridden with secrets and forebodings.
[Alice freezes. Ralph enters.]
RALPH: I hold my soul with utmost priority; with even more pride. I will defend my heart and all which it trusts, until I reach the land of darkness, where trust is shattered and hope abandoned and even the most minuscule of doubt magnifies to breath-taking errors.
ALICE: But when I close my eyes...
RALPH: But when I close my eyes...
ALICE: I see a world of autumn blues—of ocean reds—of grass golds—
RALPH: I see a world of light, with no more fear and no more perfidy—
ALICE and RALPH: This is my wish.
[Alice and Ralph exit at separate ends of the stage.]
ACT 1
SCENE 1:
[Ralph and Joss enters.]
JOSS: (taps Ralph on the head) That was unnecessary. She didn't deserve that.
RALPH: Are you my friend or hers?
JOSS: Hey, calm down. I'm not saying she was right or anything, but to just up and call her a liar in front of everyone else, without giving her a chance to explain herself—that was uncalled for.
RALPH: I don't care.
JOSS: Yeah, you don't care. You've never cared about anything.
RALPH: Why do you care so much?
JOSS: Because people have been talking behind your back, calling you—
RALPH: Look, I don't care what they say.
JOSS: You may not care, but some people—
RALPH: (turns to face Joss and holds him by one shoulder) Is this about you? Is this because you don't want to be around me, because you're afraid of what others would say if they see you associated with me?
JOSS: Hey, I never said—
RALPH: You've never said a lot of things. Always been too afraid to say them.
[Ralph spins around and stalks off stage.]
JOSS: Jeez, what's your problem?
[Justin enters.]
JUSTIN: Are you talking to me, Ritchell?
JOSS: No, Sandler. Mind your own business.
JUSTIN: Don't talk me like that. Your bodyguard's not here with you now, is he? I'm looking for him—where'd he go?
JOSS: Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you. Why do you want to find him anyway? All you're going to do is fight.
JUSTIN: Fight, yeah, I will. He insulted Skye and called her a liar. The Wextons are all a bunch of trash-talkers. I'm not going to let him get away that easily.
JOSS: You couldn't just talk to him maturely?
JUSTIN: (holds Joss by his collar) You want to fight? I know what you are—you're a coward, that's what you are.
[Other people come gathered around, chanting and taunting.]
CROWD: Fight! Fight! Fight!
[Miguel Hunter enters.]
MIGUEL: What is going on here? Boys!
[Justin lets go of Joss reluctantly.]
MIGUEL: You boys have caused enough trouble already, you two and that Wexton boy. I can't take it anymore. I will report this to the principal today, but if I catch any of you fighting again, I will have to arrest you. And mind you, that mark against you will stay with you forever.
JOSS and JUSTIN: Yes, Officer Hunter.
MIGUEL: Now run along, everyone!
[All exit except Joss.]
JOSS: Coward, me? Huh.
[Joss exits.]
SCENE 2:
[Avery and Joss enters.]
AVERY: (starts talking even before he walks on stage) So what did you say to Ralph? He walked past me looking like he's ready to kill someone.
JOSS: I just said that the whole Skye incident was wholly unnecessary. He overreacted.
AVERY: What really happened? I mean, I've heard a bit here and there, but—oh, look, here she is herself.
[Skye enters.]
AVERY: Hey, Skye!
SKYE: (waves) Hi Avery, hi Joss.
AVERY: What's up?
SKYE: Not much. I've been busy—oh, there's a party at Alice's house on Saturday night. Do you want to come? You can come too, if you want, Joss.
AVERY: You really think that's a good idea? We're not exactly the most loved boys at the Leightly household, Joss and I.
SKYE: It's a masquerade-themed party, so no one will notice who you are. Besides, Alice's parents won't be home that weekend. That's why the party's at her house.
AVERY: All right, we'll think about it.
JOSS: Yeah.
SKYE: Well, I hope to see you two there. Bye, Avery. Bye, Joss.
[Skye exits.]
AVERY: A party, huh. Well. The perfect time to bring Ralph along.
JOSS: Are you out of your mind, Avery? If the Leightlys ever find out, they'll probably come after the Wextons with guns in hand.
AVERY: Relax! We've got costumes, no one's going to recognize Ralph. And we need to get Ralph into the social scene somehow. How else is he ever going to stop being a jerk all the time?
JOSS: Just so you know, I think this is a stupid idea.
AVERY: Don't worry about it, Joss. If we're lucky, maybe we'll find Ralph a girlfriend as well. It'll do him well, soften him up.
[All exit.]
SCENE 3:
[Heath enters.]
HEATH: (a flower in hand, plucking off the petals) She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves—
[Alice enters.]
HEATH: Hi there, Alice.
ALICE: Hi.
HEATH: I—uh, really liked your performance yesterday. You played Juliet really well, like you were meant to play that role.
ALICE: Thanks.
HEATH: So, uh—
[Henry Leightly enters.]
HENRY: Heath, my boy! You're here courting my daughter again?
HEATH: Hi, Mr. Leightly. Alice and I were just talking about the play last night.
HENRY: Oh, yes, Romeo and Juliet. I reckon that was one of the most beautiful shows I'd ever seen, isn't that so, Alice?
ALICE: I suppose so.
HENRY: And Heath, how are your parents doing? Business still well, I hope?
HEATH: Yes, everything is fine. Dad's thinking of starting a new branch in Seattle next month, if everything goes well.
HENRY: That's splendid! And you, school coming along nicely?
HEATH: Soccer season is just starting, and I'm captain of the varsity team this year. We're hoping for a great season.
HENRY: That's my boy! (slaps Heath on the back) Well, I'll leave you kids to yourselves. Don't get too carried away.
[Henry chuckles and exits.]
HEATH: I—
ALICE: (at the same time) I—
HEATH: You first.
ALICE: Oh, I just—I'm tired, that's all.
HEATH: Oh. Well, would you like me to leave?
ALICE: I'm afraid I won't be much company. I'll see you this weekend.
HEATH: Okay, later.
[Alice exits.]
HEATH: (twirls flower again) She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me—oh, she—(plucks off last petal)—what am I doing? This is stupid.
[Heath throws the flower on the ground and exits.]
SCENE 4:
[Avery, Joss, and Ralph enter with costumes, with the latter two on opposite sides of Avery.]
RALPH: This is the most pointless thing I've ever done in my life.
JOSS: Oh, stop being so cynical. It's a party, you're supposed to have fun.
RALPH: I'm so sorry, my idea of fun is different from yours. What, the people talking behind my back are also making fun of that? Why do you even bother talking to me then?
AVERY: Ralph, Joss, calm down, both of you. Joss is right, we're supposed to have fun, and Ralph, there's not only one way to party. Maybe you'll find your fun here, but you'll never know if you don't try.
RALPH: The great Avery Kanswell is being philosophical now.
AVERY: I can be if I want to be.
RALPH: Where are we going anyway? You haven't told me yet.
AVERY: Oh, close enough. You'll see once we get there.
JOSS: If we ever get there, that is. You sure we're not lost, Avery? It's supposed to be a fifteen minute walk, and we must have been walking for at least thirty minutes.
AVERY: Don't you trust me?
RALPH: At the moment, no.
AVERY: Oh yeah, why don't you two team up on me, huh? The only thing you're agreeing on is disagreeing with me?
JOSS: I'd be a lot more willing to agree with you if we're where we're supposed to be.
RALPH: I'd never agree with you.
[Faint music starts up in the background, and getting louder with each step they take.]
AVERY: Okay, okay! We're almost there—no, we're here already!
RALPH: (looks around) This is the place? Isn't this—
AVERY: Who cares what it is, we're here. Put on your masks. It's a masquerade, after all.
RALPH: But this is—
AVERY: It is, it isn't, who cares?
[Avery pushes Ralph off stage. Joss exits.]
SCENE 5:
[Alice, Heath, Justin, Skye, and several others are already there, all in costume. Avery, Joss, and Ralph enter discreetly from the side. Avery and Joss try to drag Ralph to dance, but he refuses, and they go on without him. Alice is standing by the punch bowl, not doing anything. Ralph approaches her.]
RALPH: Got an extra cup?
ALICE: They're by the chips.
RALPH: Hn, thank you.
ALICE: I haven't seen you before.
RALPH: I wouldn't think so, unless you go to masquerades every other week.
ALICE: No, at any other party. I haven't seen you before.
RALPH: Maybe you missed me.
ALICE: No one else ever drinks before they at least dance a while. It's too early to be drinking.
RALPH: Maybe you missed me the times before because I was too early.
ALICE: No, I wouldn't have. I'm always here.
RALPH: Always? Why, you don't dance?
ALICE: I'd rather not.
RALPH: What are you doing at a party then?
ALICE: I—my friends are here. What are you doing here?
RALPH: Friends. Those who you think know you the best really know nothing of you at all.
ALICE: Do you think so? What do your friends think of you?
RALPH: (pause) A stuck-up, cold-hearted jerk, I'll bet.
ALICE: What do you think of yourself then?
RALPH: I—I don't know. (pause) I'd like to think I'm a fighter.
ALICE: A fighter? Against what?
RALPH: This world. Everyone in it. Sometimes even my friends.
ALICE: But you still see them as your friends.
RALPH: Yeah. I—there isn't anyone else who'd listen to me but them.
ALICE: That must count for something, doesn't it?
RALPH: What about your friends? Why aren't you dancing with them?
ALICE: They like parties. I don't.
RALPH: Why, too loud for you?
ALICE: No, it's just—too many people. I don't like it very much.
RALPH: But you wouldn't fight against your friends? Even if they wanted something you didn't?
ALICE: It doesn't matter anyway.
RALPH: They won't ever know if you don't tell them.
ALICE: No, no. I don't mind, really.
SKYE: (from the other side of the stage, shouting) Alice!
ALICE: Coming! (to Ralph) I'm sorry, I must leave now.
[Alice walks away to where Skye is, and Avery walks over to Ralph.]
AVERY: Hey, Ralph, having fun yet?
RALPH: As much as I'd expected.
[Justin, who was walking by, hears them and realizes that Ralph is here. He walks over to Skye's group as well.]
JUSTIN: (mutters to himself) Wexton, to have the guts! Oh, I'll get you one day, just you wait.
AVERY: Aw, come on. We saw you talking to a pretty girl that was just here. What's her name?
RALPH: Didn't ask.
AVERY: Really? Ralph, you've got to do better than that! You have to ask for her name and number. How else are you ever going to talk to her again?
RALPH: I don't plan to talk to her again anyway.
AVERY: You're such a bore. All right, let's get going then. Joss might've had too much to drink. He's been hitting on Melissa all night long. Besides, it's getting late, and I have an English paper I have to write for Monday.
[Ralph, Avery, and Joss exit.]
HEATH: Alice, want to dance with me?
ALICE: I'm sorry, my head hurts. I think I'll go to bed early. Make sure everything's in order for me, will you?
HEATH: Okay, Alice. I will. Hope you get better soon.
ALICE: Thanks.
[Alice exits. Heath and others linger for a while, then all exit.]
This is basically the end of the first act (if you recall from the original R&J, there were five scenes in the first act). I feel as if it's a bit too close to the original in structure, but some of the plot is really different, so I'm not sure if I need this kind of structure so that it can even pass as a retake on the classic.
Also, plot-wise, I'm thinking some people will die (obviously), some people will hook up (even more obvious), and there will be lots of hate and misunderstanding but lots of opportunities to make it all up (but whether anyone takes those chances, I'm not sure yet). So far, it's weird and mostly preliminary.
And... school events. NO MORE AP FINALS. Just finished my free-response for chem today, and so the APs are officially over. This year, anyway, and the projects are starting to roll in (Matt and I are going to conduct a survey and it's going to be amazing and we will have all sorts of fancy tests). But it's going to be just splendid.
I've also borrowed Gone with the Wind from our school's library, and I plan on reading that in my free-reading-period tomorrow during English. I've heard wonderful things about the book, so I can't wait. It's a sizable book though (rather on the heavy side) so I'll have to find some other time to finish it all (before June 4th comes along), but I should be able to manage. Hopefully.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Deathly Fumes
In physics today, I was painting my pink eraser with an assortment of nail polish colors, when I said to Camel, "I think these fumes are bad for my brain."
"They stink," Camel said, obviously never having had to suffer such atrocious smells before (and if he has, I am not concerned with why).
I kept on painting anyway. Mr. Stencil came in and informed us that the second potential physics teacher candidate (two points here: a) we are going to have a new physics teacher next year because two physics teachers are going to teach the newly created computer classes, and b) the first candidate already "taught" the period 7 class) will be coming tomorrow.
"I won't be here tomorrow," Scott said, "And so won't most of the class. The econ test is tomorrow."
So Mr. Stencil asked those who were taking the AP econ test to raise their hands. A sea of hands went up. Then, he switched tactics and asked those who were not going anywhere to raise their hands. Five hands went up.
We debated (briefly) whether the candidate should come on Friday, since Mr. Stencil won't be in school on that day anyway. I wouldn't mind either way. My Thursday is looking to be pretty awesome so far (it goes like this: calc, extended US, physics, extended stat, English, then health).
After that, since some people were not here because of the English test, we had a clicker day on sound waves. Which was a rather failure for me, since I couldn't do mental math today for some reason (despite having watched Numb3rs in stat the class prior while trying to finish my physics lab, and asking Matt, but he didn't know much about optics either).
In my other science class, chem, we played Jeopardy! almost all period long. Mr. Coffee is amazingly good at these (he got most of them), so it was a great disadvantage for us when he declared that he would compete alongside with us. I got two questions right in total, one on the state tree of Maine (it's pine) and one on which North American capital Queen Victoria picked (Ottawa, and she only saw watercolor pictures of the potential capital cities beforehand—hey, I know my Canadian history).
After two rounds of Jeopardy! (the exclamation mark is totally necessary), we went on Sporcle instead, and Mr. Coffee was busy typing away on a name-that-person-based-on-the-image test when the bell rang. I went down to French (where we had a sub) and so did not see if he passed. Pity.
Then Micro ignored me while we were all on the bus (albeit different ones). But I had Yuma to talk with, and so we talked about something, but it must not have been important, because I don't remember any of it.
"They stink," Camel said, obviously never having had to suffer such atrocious smells before (and if he has, I am not concerned with why).
I kept on painting anyway. Mr. Stencil came in and informed us that the second potential physics teacher candidate (two points here: a) we are going to have a new physics teacher next year because two physics teachers are going to teach the newly created computer classes, and b) the first candidate already "taught" the period 7 class) will be coming tomorrow.
"I won't be here tomorrow," Scott said, "And so won't most of the class. The econ test is tomorrow."
So Mr. Stencil asked those who were taking the AP econ test to raise their hands. A sea of hands went up. Then, he switched tactics and asked those who were not going anywhere to raise their hands. Five hands went up.
We debated (briefly) whether the candidate should come on Friday, since Mr. Stencil won't be in school on that day anyway. I wouldn't mind either way. My Thursday is looking to be pretty awesome so far (it goes like this: calc, extended US, physics, extended stat, English, then health).
After that, since some people were not here because of the English test, we had a clicker day on sound waves. Which was a rather failure for me, since I couldn't do mental math today for some reason (despite having watched Numb3rs in stat the class prior while trying to finish my physics lab, and asking Matt, but he didn't know much about optics either).
In my other science class, chem, we played Jeopardy! almost all period long. Mr. Coffee is amazingly good at these (he got most of them), so it was a great disadvantage for us when he declared that he would compete alongside with us. I got two questions right in total, one on the state tree of Maine (it's pine) and one on which North American capital Queen Victoria picked (Ottawa, and she only saw watercolor pictures of the potential capital cities beforehand—hey, I know my Canadian history).
After two rounds of Jeopardy! (the exclamation mark is totally necessary), we went on Sporcle instead, and Mr. Coffee was busy typing away on a name-that-person-based-on-the-image test when the bell rang. I went down to French (where we had a sub) and so did not see if he passed. Pity.
Then Micro ignored me while we were all on the bus (albeit different ones). But I had Yuma to talk with, and so we talked about something, but it must not have been important, because I don't remember any of it.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
AP Stat—
Is rather boring (just like the SATs). Well, more specifically, statistics, as a subject, is really fascinating, but AP statistics, as a test, is not. Matt and I have been "studying" since early this morning, and so far we've concluded that: a) the equation for the t-distribution is very complicated; b) Schrödinger's cat does not make any sense; and c) we're going to fail the free response section.
The very fact that, at 9:17AM, I am sitting in the library typing up this post, instead of something more productive, such as studying, is testament to the absolute non-attractiveness of the test. Instead, I think I will use the rest of the time to study for calculus, which, albeit also not as fascinating as the subject itself, is much, much harder and thus deserves more attention, especially on my part, as I've been rather miserably failing the series/parametric/polar sections.
Another reason why I'm typing here: I spent so much time making the background to my blog (a.k.a. borrowing it from another blog-making website) that now I'm rather obsessed with it and cannot live for a day without staring at it (granted, I have not yet lived a day since when I first got it, but that's besides the point).
So I've got two hours and a half left, before I see what this year's exam is really like. Then another half-day before the calc exam, then less than a week for my chem exam. Chem is decidedly easy, except maybe acid/base and equations but the rest is so easy that it doesn't matter. Calc, on the other hand—
Perhaps I should study now.
The very fact that, at 9:17AM, I am sitting in the library typing up this post, instead of something more productive, such as studying, is testament to the absolute non-attractiveness of the test. Instead, I think I will use the rest of the time to study for calculus, which, albeit also not as fascinating as the subject itself, is much, much harder and thus deserves more attention, especially on my part, as I've been rather miserably failing the series/parametric/polar sections.
Another reason why I'm typing here: I spent so much time making the background to my blog (a.k.a. borrowing it from another blog-making website) that now I'm rather obsessed with it and cannot live for a day without staring at it (granted, I have not yet lived a day since when I first got it, but that's besides the point).
So I've got two hours and a half left, before I see what this year's exam is really like. Then another half-day before the calc exam, then less than a week for my chem exam. Chem is decidedly easy, except maybe acid/base and equations but the rest is so easy that it doesn't matter. Calc, on the other hand—
Perhaps I should study now.
Monday, March 29, 2010
More Adventures (in Chile) + Panic IRL
This was long overdue but necessary in the grand scheme of life this trip. Therefore, it is here, and I will be off to do my homework ("Gasp!") because I just checked the schedule and the CALC FINAL (-cue screaming sound effects-) is in two weeks. (±Math run-offs, AIME's, and an assortment of other things.) Therefore, I probably won't be getting any homework done, and so I might as well post this now so I don't get too distracted.
ALSO YOU GUYS: Ignore tenses in this thing. I don't know what land I'm in, but this land's Laws decree that normal tense situations do not apply here.That, or I'm writing about past/present/future at the same time, so I'm really, really confused.
Today is the first day of our (Gretchie has joined my trip) adventures! After an entire day of packing, we have decided that we have EVERYTHING we could possibly needthat we can think of right now. So, relying upon our trusty RANDOM.ORG random coordinates generator, we have decided to travel to the most coveted—
ALSO YOU GUYS: Ignore tenses in this thing. I don't know what land I'm in, but this land's Laws decree that normal tense situations do not apply here.
Today is the first day of our (Gretchie has joined my trip) adventures! After an entire day of packing, we have decided that we have EVERYTHING we could possibly need
Chile!
But first things first. We need a picture of Gretchie since she's coming along as well.
After quite some time of fiddling with paint the camera once again, here is a picture of Gretch (to the right). (A/N: This picture did not exist prior to this post; however, due to unfortunate media leakage, this picture is now old news and therefore lacks the "wow" factor it was supposed to bring.)
Great, now we can begin!
So, since we're in the middle of nowhere not anywhere near Chile, I ordered tickets from TravelWithUsJerk.com (see bottom of page). They came in the mail yesterday, while we were still packing, and boy, were we excited! I literally jumped up and down until I got tired and had to stop.
Gretchie added a water filter, cards, a Spanish-English dictionary, a Swiss army knife, eating utensils, and walkie-talkies to her bag. I've also last-minutely added a small, hand-held mirror, just in case we're plane-wrecked in the middle of the ocean and we need to flash Morse code signals at planes to make them notice us.
Anyway, at 9:30AM, we decided that we had everything. With a few final checks (making sure we locked the doors and windows and said a teary farewell to our friends for thehour day week possibly eternity), we were ready to depart!
The closest international airport is JFK, and it's a very, very far distance away (anything that can't be tackled reasonably by foot is a very far distance for me), so naturally we rode a taxi! I love yellow taxis—they make me feel happy on the inside, especially if it's raining outside and the water puddles make the road all reflection-y when the yellow taxis drive by.
The ride to the airport was pretty fun, and when we got to the airport, we still had plenty of time left (the plane was scheduled to leave at 2PM—haha, 2PM—and we arrived at 11AM). So we did what normal people do when they're about to embark on a round-the-world voyage.
We jumped up and down (figuratively for Gretchie and literally for me) and ooh'd and ahh'd over everything we saw. Well, of course, we had to get our boarding pass first, go through numerous layers of customs (tricky—I never did like customs), and find our waiting room. Once we got there, however, the realization that the trip was finally happening made both of us giddy. I pulled out my laptop and we went over the itinerary for the next few days, which I will outline below in order topacify you because the actual trip writing may take a long time to solidify give you an idea of what is to come:
So, there you have it! Almost two weeks of fun in Chile, or at least we hope it will be. Alas, time flies when you're rechecking over itineraries (or maybe just when you're having fun in general), and by the time we finished going over the details and planning what we will do after we get off the plane, it was about time to board our plane.
Here's a picture of the plane we're going to board:
Isn't it pretty?
This is a plane owned by Lan Chile Airlines, the major airline company in Chile. It's also the only plane that travels to Easter Island, which is where we're going to go later. (How this hasn't directly attributed to grossly unreasonable fares, I have no idea, but I assume I'll know next year with a year of econ under my figurative belt.)
I found some random picture online took a picture of the landscape as we were about to depart. Can you believe it? We're going to leave the country soon, and then our continent!
South America, here we come!
Of course, for the entire flight, Gretchie and I watched this strange documentary about glaciers in Greenland. I don't really remember much of it, because I was more focused on the beautiful background music they played while showing the films of the glaciers.
It takes around nine hours to go by plane from NYC to Chile, and so by the time we arrived, it was a staggeringly late 11PM by our watches. However, by the Chilean time zone (UTC-04), it was already midnight. Gretchie and I were both pretty tired by now, so our first priority was to find a hotel and rest for the night.
(I think we'll have to push back our schedule for a day, because rest is very, very important and visiting Santiago is also very, very important, and we have plenty of time to spare anyway.)
Gretchie took some pictures of the night-time Santiago as we rode in our taxi and headed toward our hotel. Here's one that we both really liked:
After much sight-seeing through the streets of Santiago, we arrived at our hotelwhich is not named because I have been too lazy to actually find one, duh. Tired as we were, we did not forget to take a picture of our room. So, here it is, and we'll update infinitely later tomorrow on how our first actual day in Santiago goes!
OOH (see earlier posts):
We (both of Mr. Coffee's AP chem classes) got back our acid/base equilibrium test today—or, at least, the multiple choice part. The "bell curve" for test score distributions were one 95+ (Bryant, most likely, as this spot is usually reserved for him), a small cluster of 90+, a huge cluster of 80+ (including 85+), pitifully few in the 70+ (including 75+), and another huge cluster at or below 65+.
On the bright side, this unit is so dubbed, "If you can survive this, you can do anything." So, seeing as I survived the test (with lots of freebie points from Mr. Coffee because he messed up on several questions to help), I must be able to do anything!
(Well, anything except my research paper, it seems, because I almost failed that, and the only reason I didn't fail was because I had clear sentences and good language usage, so the next two weeks will be frantic as I basically rewrite my entire paper.)
I am also awaiting my free response for this unit, which I have my doubts in because I didn't (unlike Bryant and Nyx and basically everyone else who was sane) do any of the AP problems on College Board. Well. On the even brighter side, the next unit is relatively easier (although it also seems that easier units are the ones I perform worse on in tests), so everything should be fine until I start panicking about the calc finals.
Which, if the introduction paragraph haven't warned you yet, CALC FINALS!MAY 5TH IS APPROACHING! APRIL 12TH IS APPROACHING! Ahem. Right.
Our class has yet to panic, it appears, because we spent today discussing what the "ç" was called ("A cedilla." "Oh, Ginny, can you teach me French?") and whether the cardioid looked like a "butt." Dino also spent considerable time persuading Mrs. James to hit the "print" button on the Smartboard so he could go grab a copy of the calc notes he forgot to print out ("We were supposed to bring 10.6? No one told me that!") while Jay used "going to the bathroom" as an excuse to print out a copy of the notes himself but forgot to print out an extra set for Dino.
Not that I did anything in any of my other classes. We had a sub for physics, and Camel, lamenting that the $10 he spent on buying Monty Python was wasted because he couldn't open the file, used his laptop to go on Youtube to watch more Monty Python. I took this time to use an extremely long yard-stick (meter-stick, actually, and they can't be extremely long because they're supposed to be one meter long, but that's not the point) to draw scatterplots for stat. Nevertheless, it wasn't necessary, it seemed, because Mrs. MacDonald wasn't here either, and we had another sub (who suspiciously looked like the sub we had for physics, but I'm bad at recognizing people so I'm not sure). Matt and I worked on another sudoku puzzle, and then later on we (mostly me) worked on some math packets. I can say now with 70% confidence that I can tackle most of the round 1 questions, half of the round 2 questions, and maybe half of the round 3 questions.
Oh, I'm doomed.
But wait, there's more!If you call NOW AIME is coming up, Wednesday. I still have to ask Tybalt what room I'm supposed to be in, and I still have to go over at least some of the problems to see what they're like and what my probability of failing is (very high, although I shall try a Nate Silver-esque approach and conduct some research based on past problem performance).
So. Anyway. Homework.
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Gretchie added a water filter, cards, a Spanish-English dictionary, a Swiss army knife, eating utensils, and walkie-talkies to her bag. I've also last-minutely added a small, hand-held mirror, just in case we're plane-wrecked in the middle of the ocean and we need to flash Morse code signals at planes to make them notice us.
Anyway, at 9:30AM, we decided that we had everything. With a few final checks (making sure we locked the doors and windows and said a teary farewell to our friends for the
The ride to the airport was pretty fun, and when we got to the airport, we still had plenty of time left (the plane was scheduled to leave at 2PM—haha, 2PM—and we arrived at 11AM). So we did what normal people do when they're about to embark on a round-the-world voyage.
We jumped up and down (figuratively for Gretchie and literally for me) and ooh'd and ahh'd over everything we saw. Well, of course, we had to get our boarding pass first, go through numerous layers of customs (tricky—I never did like customs), and find our waiting room. Once we got there, however, the realization that the trip was finally happening made both of us giddy. I pulled out my laptop and we went over the itinerary for the next few days, which I will outline below in order to
- Day 1: Arrive at Santiago (the capital of Chile and where the major International airport is located), look around, check into a hotel, scream, "WE'RE IN CHILE!!!" (Preferably in Spanish, although that is a feat only Gretchie can accomplish right now.)
- Day 2: Continue tour of Santiago (I've heard that they have amazing food there), in the afternoon take a plane to Atacama Desert and stay the night there.
- Day 3-6: Explore Atacama. Highlights: museums, geysers, beautiful views, adobe hotels! On the last day, take a plane to Easter Island.
- Day 7-11: Explore Easter Island. (More) highlights: Moai (those stone faces Easter Island is famous for), volcanic craters, scuba diving/snorkeling. On the last day/afternoon, take a plane back to Santiago.
- Day 12: Rest a bit, check any really good tourist attractions (or restaurants), then depart for our next destination (undecided as of yet).
So, there you have it! Almost two weeks of fun in Chile, or at least we hope it will be. Alas, time flies when you're rechecking over itineraries (or maybe just when you're having fun in general), and by the time we finished going over the details and planning what we will do after we get off the plane, it was about time to board our plane.
Here's a picture of the plane we're going to board:
Isn't it pretty?
This is a plane owned by Lan Chile Airlines, the major airline company in Chile. It's also the only plane that travels to Easter Island, which is where we're going to go later. (How this hasn't directly attributed to grossly unreasonable fares, I have no idea, but I assume I'll know next year with a year of econ under my figurative belt.)
South America, here we come!
Of course, for the entire flight, Gretchie and I watched this strange documentary about glaciers in Greenland. I don't really remember much of it, because I was more focused on the beautiful background music they played while showing the films of the glaciers.
It takes around nine hours to go by plane from NYC to Chile, and so by the time we arrived, it was a staggeringly late 11PM by our watches. However, by the Chilean time zone (UTC-04), it was already midnight. Gretchie and I were both pretty tired by now, so our first priority was to find a hotel and rest for the night.
(I think we'll have to push back our schedule for a day, because rest is very, very important and visiting Santiago is also very, very important, and we have plenty of time to spare anyway.)
Gretchie took some pictures of the night-time Santiago as we rode in our taxi and headed toward our hotel. Here's one that we both really liked:
After much sight-seeing through the streets of Santiago, we arrived at our hotel
OOH (see earlier posts):
We (both of Mr. Coffee's AP chem classes) got back our acid/base equilibrium test today—or, at least, the multiple choice part. The "bell curve" for test score distributions were one 95+ (Bryant, most likely, as this spot is usually reserved for him), a small cluster of 90+, a huge cluster of 80+ (including 85+), pitifully few in the 70+ (including 75+), and another huge cluster at or below 65+.
On the bright side, this unit is so dubbed, "If you can survive this, you can do anything." So, seeing as I survived the test (with lots of freebie points from Mr. Coffee because he messed up on several questions to help), I must be able to do anything!
(Well, anything except my research paper, it seems, because I almost failed that, and the only reason I didn't fail was because I had clear sentences and good language usage, so the next two weeks will be frantic as I basically rewrite my entire paper.)
I am also awaiting my free response for this unit, which I have my doubts in because I didn't (unlike Bryant and Nyx and basically everyone else who was sane) do any of the AP problems on College Board. Well. On the even brighter side, the next unit is relatively easier (although it also seems that easier units are the ones I perform worse on in tests), so everything should be fine until I start panicking about the calc finals.
Which, if the introduction paragraph haven't warned you yet, CALC FINALS!
Our class has yet to panic, it appears, because we spent today discussing what the "ç" was called ("A cedilla." "Oh, Ginny, can you teach me French?") and whether the cardioid looked like a "butt." Dino also spent considerable time persuading Mrs. James to hit the "print" button on the Smartboard so he could go grab a copy of the calc notes he forgot to print out ("We were supposed to bring 10.6? No one told me that!") while Jay used "going to the bathroom" as an excuse to print out a copy of the notes himself but forgot to print out an extra set for Dino.
Not that I did anything in any of my other classes. We had a sub for physics, and Camel, lamenting that the $10 he spent on buying Monty Python was wasted because he couldn't open the file, used his laptop to go on Youtube to watch more Monty Python. I took this time to use an extremely long yard-stick (meter-stick, actually, and they can't be extremely long because they're supposed to be one meter long, but that's not the point) to draw scatterplots for stat. Nevertheless, it wasn't necessary, it seemed, because Mrs. MacDonald wasn't here either, and we had another sub (who suspiciously looked like the sub we had for physics, but I'm bad at recognizing people so I'm not sure). Matt and I worked on another sudoku puzzle, and then later on we (mostly me) worked on some math packets. I can say now with 70% confidence that I can tackle most of the round 1 questions, half of the round 2 questions, and maybe half of the round 3 questions.
Oh, I'm doomed.
But wait, there's more!
So. Anyway. Homework.
DISCLAIMER (read the small font): Any hyper-link not "linked" is not true and is merely a figment of the authoress' imagination. There may, however, be a slight chance that such a link exists in real life and therefore accessible. We [Gretchie and I] do not wish to infringe upon the rights of those organizations, and we are not associated with them in any way. We are not liable for any loss, whether financial, physical, laptopial, or any thing else, incurred due to the searching and/or subsequent visiting of said websites. If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, please contact us at ginnyofnephria(at)gmail.com or comment below. Please note that we reserve the right to ignore you (within reasonable boundaries of law) or delete your comment as we see fit. For further questions, read the sentence before the sentence before this sentence.
