I had econ first period this morning, and we had a test (which coincided with Mrs. Pointy’s classes’ tests as well). I thought it was easy, and I told Joss so at lunch, to which he replied, “You thought it was easy? It was easy.” Well, it’s all in the word choices.
Then Reese asked, “Do you remember your first test in calc? The limits test?”
Bad memories. Very bad memories. But yes, I did remember that particular test (and numerous calc tests after that).
Reese went on to ask, “How did you do on it?”
“Pretty well,” I said. “After the curve, of course. I think I got either 91 or 95 after the curve.”
“What did you get before the curve?” Argon asked.
“I don’t remember,” I said. “Somewhere in the 70s? Maybe lower. I don’t remember. I do remember getting a 67 before the curve and having that curved up to a 91 though.”
Ah, the ridiculous AP calc curves. At least those were good memories.
That was all during first lunch. Second (and third) lunch I went to the English/social studies learning center with Yuma, and we found Clay already there. He was working on his physics homework (oh, the woes of UTexas), and after that he started to watch this video on limits for calc. The video gives this definition for a limit: “A limit is the intended height of a function.” And then it asks, “Why is this a difficult concept?”
No duh. If you word it like that, of course people are going to be confused.
I finished my Student Activity Sheet in this lunch period, and then I went off to multi with Yuma, and lots of fascinating things happened (including everyone’s discovery that we had a syllabus four weeks into the course), but I’ll just fast forward to after school, when I met up with Mrs. Grindel for my teacher recs. It was a short and very informative talk—I now know that I should probably get self-adhesive envelopes for her and Mrs. MacDonald (my other recs teacher). I hadn’t thought of that before.
I saw Clay again and we talked about frisbee (tomorrow after school, if anyone is interested), and then I went upstairs, where I saw Noah. He asked me where I was headed.
“Oh, nowhere, really,” I said. “I’m trying to find a place to go to.”
We then talked about homework (or not doing homework at home). Noah said he does all of his homework at school, and then when he goes home he just doesn’t want to do anything. I told him that I don’t feel like doing anything most of the time, but during my free Yuma’s always typing away and working so diligently, so I feel pressured to work hard as well.
I guess it’s a good thing Yuma’s in my free. I don’t know how much work I’d get done without him. I mean, he’s even figured out which learning center is most productive. He really is serious about his work.
And I should be too. First prewrite for English due tomorrow, and I should be working on that pronto.
Showing posts with label Mrs. MacDonald. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mrs. MacDonald. Show all posts
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
A New Beginning
I think this was the title to one of my blog posts. Not this one, of course, but one of my WordPress blogs, or something similar, back when I was still a careless blogger and my blogs had fewer than four posts in total.
So. First day of school. Semantics, really (as compared to syntax, which requires more careful thought, but I think comparing school to linguistic terms would probably draw plenty of blank eyes). A lot of "this is what we're going to teach you," and a lot more of "this is what we expect from you." I have four syllabi (which is not a word, according to Blogger spellcheck) already, all pretty much useless because I will never, ever refer to them, ever.
And even if I did, I would do so online, not flip through several sheets of paper. But that is another story.
My French class went well (as well as it can go when I was only there for the last 15 minutes), and so did physics, which is right next door to my French classroom. I saw Dino as I went in, and he said, "Ginny," to which I responded, "Bonjour," because I was still in a French mindset (plus I was kind of shocked he was talking to me—he usually doesn't do that unless necessary). Nyx is across the hall from me (during French, that is), and so we both have very short distances to travel when going to physics, but alas that won't happen anymore because periods 1 and 7 have switched. Pity. (At least we can still walk together from multi on Thursdays.)
All of my other classes were also pretty good as well. Lots of people I know for most of my classes (I don't know about biology or middle east yet), and Yuma is in my free for the entire year! So I guess even with the not-so-good arena time, all of my classes are splendid, and I am so excited about the rest of the year. Especially because I don't have lab lunches anymore. I love regular lunches.
On the other spectrum (the one oft talked about and most dreaded), I talked with Mrs. MacDonald today, and we'll have to be talking soon about teacher recs. That means I have to hunt down Mrs. Tallchief as well, unless I want to ask someone else (I'm still not sure yet). Fun. Not really.
Well, at least I finished most of my homework (I still have to read and annotate the Aciman article for English—or at least I think it's that article, I didn't really hear Mr. Littney that clearly), and all my binders are (so far) organized, which is a good start.
I'll hope for the best.
So. First day of school. Semantics, really (as compared to syntax, which requires more careful thought, but I think comparing school to linguistic terms would probably draw plenty of blank eyes). A lot of "this is what we're going to teach you," and a lot more of "this is what we expect from you." I have four syllabi (which is not a word, according to Blogger spellcheck) already, all pretty much useless because I will never, ever refer to them, ever.
And even if I did, I would do so online, not flip through several sheets of paper. But that is another story.
My French class went well (as well as it can go when I was only there for the last 15 minutes), and so did physics, which is right next door to my French classroom. I saw Dino as I went in, and he said, "Ginny," to which I responded, "Bonjour," because I was still in a French mindset (plus I was kind of shocked he was talking to me—he usually doesn't do that unless necessary). Nyx is across the hall from me (during French, that is), and so we both have very short distances to travel when going to physics, but alas that won't happen anymore because periods 1 and 7 have switched. Pity. (At least we can still walk together from multi on Thursdays.)
All of my other classes were also pretty good as well. Lots of people I know for most of my classes (I don't know about biology or middle east yet), and Yuma is in my free for the entire year! So I guess even with the not-so-good arena time, all of my classes are splendid, and I am so excited about the rest of the year. Especially because I don't have lab lunches anymore. I love regular lunches.
On the other spectrum (the one oft talked about and most dreaded), I talked with Mrs. MacDonald today, and we'll have to be talking soon about teacher recs. That means I have to hunt down Mrs. Tallchief as well, unless I want to ask someone else (I'm still not sure yet). Fun. Not really.
Well, at least I finished most of my homework (I still have to read and annotate the Aciman article for English—or at least I think it's that article, I didn't really hear Mr. Littney that clearly), and all my binders are (so far) organized, which is a good start.
I'll hope for the best.
Friday, July 23, 2010
In the Never Before Seen, Exclusive Side of Nephria
Namely, my unpublished drafts. Events and such that once upon a time merited some words, but then was either not important enough to be published (because other, more important things came up), or I got sidetracked and therefore did not find the time or effort to finish and publish them. Well, I'm doing a summer cleaning of sorts, in tune with my neighbor cutting down all the trees surrounding his house because one happened to be uprooted in the storm a few days earlier.
Other thing(s) before I begin: I passed my permit test! Well, sort of. I took the vision test first, which was basically me squinting and making up numbers, and the testing official being distracted (and talking to someone else) while saying, "All right, you passed, go on to the written part." Then I stood between two guys also taking the permit test, one of which passed, and one of which failed. After that, the testing official (someone else, I think) told me I had to wait because they were checking whether I was an illegal immigrant and other things like that. I mean, my visa (in my passport) wasn't enough? If I were illegal, how did I ever survive two years here?
Alas, it's protocol.
So I'm waiting to get my permit (hopefully) on Tuesday, the same day my dad leaves for Florida. On our way back from the DMV, my mom told me about the intricacies of turning (she doesn't use the hand method mentioned in the book) and the gas/brake pedal.
Now onto excerpts of my unpublished fun-stuffs.
Jan. 20th: Addicted to Freedom
Exams are finally over! I've been thinking about writing this post (what little time I had not cramming for calc or writing stories about Owen), and finally, it's time!
Alas, freedom is like that thing with feathers that perches in your soul, and comes out every so often, but is soon harnessed back by the chains of reality.
Well, the first part came from a poem by Emily Dickinson describing hope (which was on my English midterms), and I made the second part up.
Other thing(s) before I begin: I passed my permit test! Well, sort of. I took the vision test first, which was basically me squinting and making up numbers, and the testing official being distracted (and talking to someone else) while saying, "All right, you passed, go on to the written part." Then I stood between two guys also taking the permit test, one of which passed, and one of which failed. After that, the testing official (someone else, I think) told me I had to wait because they were checking whether I was an illegal immigrant and other things like that. I mean, my visa (in my passport) wasn't enough? If I were illegal, how did I ever survive two years here?
Alas, it's protocol.
So I'm waiting to get my permit (hopefully) on Tuesday, the same day my dad leaves for Florida. On our way back from the DMV, my mom told me about the intricacies of turning (she doesn't use the hand method mentioned in the book) and the gas/brake pedal.
Now onto excerpts of my unpublished fun-stuffs.
Jan. 20th: Addicted to Freedom
Exams are finally over! I've been thinking about writing this post (what little time I had not cramming for calc or writing stories about Owen), and finally, it's time!
Alas, freedom is like that thing with feathers that perches in your soul, and comes out every so often, but is soon harnessed back by the chains of reality.
Well, the first part came from a poem by Emily Dickinson describing hope (which was on my English midterms), and I made the second part up.
The actual "exams" part of exams wasn't too bad, I suppose. I talked to Kyle after our stat exam, and he said it was just as he expected.
Even the fact that Mrs. MacDonald wasn't there.
But enough about them!
It's finally time to (besides finishing my EOQR) start on the miserable path of Owen-ness.
I would ask for your opinion, Owen, but considering you probably will never read my blog (or even know that you're Owen on here), I guess I'm on my own.
Jan. 23: Letters to Allie
Forty minutes to midnight.
He sat there, a piece of paper in his hand, musing. It was not in his nature to think—he was more of a do now, think later kind of person, as the twins once noted. The twins were the more contemplative types, thinking over every characteristic of the people they encountered, but he had always loved actions more than thoughts.
Right now, he wondered if it was too late to change his habits. Doing had gotten him nowhere, and now he needed answers.
Time was not waiting for him as it had always done.
He picked up the phone from his desk, stared at the glowing numbers. Who to ask? Who knew what he wanted to know? Who could he trust?
He had made enough enemies, he knew that. He had made enough mistakes. But this was one mistake he could not afford to make, one that could break his spring, crush him until he forgot who he was and why he was.
Thirty-seven minutes to midnight.
Feb. 1: Overdue-Part II
Feb. 1: Overdue-Part II
As we eventually all settled back into our rooms, with enormous amounts of junk food, we began to refocus on the problem. Or, at least, we tried to refocus on the problem. The fact that every ten minutes or so, a commercial about Saf-t-Swim, coupled with a matching "jingle" set to the tune of the Barney's theme song, would pop out of nowhere was slightly irritating.
Apparently, I was not the only one.
"If I hear that song one more time," Mogley said, "I will kill someone."
We all stared at Reese (except himself, of course).
"What?" Reese asked. "What did I do?"
"Okay everyone," Ben said. "Let's focus. What do we still need to do?"
"I don't know," I said. "Maybe search up how far our food travels? Ugh, I think I'm starting to get sick from all the cheese I ate."
I had not mentioned this before, but for lunch, I had ordered the all-cheese sandwich, because I was not a fan of turkey and I thought that cheese might have been a nice alternative. Well, the cheese was good. There was just so much of it, all dripping down everywhere. I even splattered some on the ground.
"And the candy," Joss added, motioning to the bag of candy I had in front of me.
"Hey," Reese said. "Let's turn off the lights."
I had no idea where this suggestion came from, or why, but we all agreed to it to some extent. The sun was still out by that time (although it may have been cloudy; I don't remember), so it was fairly bright in the room, especially with the light from the Smartboard. We resumed our old sitting positions, with Mogley and Ben at the desks, Joss and I on the ground, and Reese probably floating around somewhere. None of us really cared where he was, as long as he didn't distract us.
"I'm going to go get some water," Reese suddenly said. "Anyone wants to come?"
"Nope," I said.
"No," Joss said. "But get me a bag of candy while you're there."
"Oh, and get me a tea," Ben said. "What do they have?"
"Peach, lemonade, and berry."
"Okay," Ben said. "Get me a peach tea."
"Get me a berry tea," Mogley said.
"Does anyone else want drinks?" Reese asked, exasperation in his voice. But with him, it could have just been his normal voice.
"Nope," I said.
"Don't forget my tea," Mogley said.
"And don't forget my candy," Joss said.
Reese disappeared into the hallway. After a while, he came back, several food and drink items in hand.
"Here's your candy," Reese said, handing Joss a bag. He placed a can in front of Mogley. "And here's your drink."
"Did you remember my peach tea?" Ben asked.
"Oh, darn," Reese said. "I forgot."
"Cherry?" Joss exclaimed as he examined his candy closer. "Of all the flavors, you had to get cherry?"
"This tastes bad," Mogley said, after having tasted his berry tea.
"Okay, okay," Reese said. "I'll get everyone new drinks. What do you want?"
"Peach tea," Ben said.
"Lemonade," Mogley said.
"Non-cherry flavored candy," Joss said.
"They don't have anything else," Reese said.
"Another peach tea for me as well," I said.
Reese sighed and left the room again. When he was gone, I turned to look at the group.
"Did you guys really want more drinks, or did you just want him gone?"
"A little of both," Mogley said.
Oh, I can feel love in the air already. We waited for Reese to come back, and then settled back into what we were supposed to do. Which included making random outbursts over whose grammar--or lack thereof--was more correct.
Mr. Flatgrass chose this moment to pop into our room.
"Hey guys," he said. "You guys turned off the lights? To conserve energy?"
We laughed and heartily agreed. After he left, Reese said:
"He didn't realize that we had the Smartboard on. This thing uses more energy than all of the lights combined."
"Really?" I asked. Or maybe Mogley asked. I don't remember, but we were probably thinking along the same lines.
"Yeah," Reese said. He turned off the Smartboard, plunging us into darkness. It was really dark by now, which just showed how efficient we were. We all protested for Reese to turn the Smartboard back on, because we couldn't see anything.
In the end, Reese gave in, but not before putting Blackle on the projector-side of his dual screen and depriving us of more light.
We resumed our work, posting all of our sources onto an Etherpad site so Reese could MLA it all. (And I know that MLA is probably not a verb, but it's more fun as one.) We each had our own signature color (mine was purple), and originally, we had each typed our names in the spot where we identify ourselves. But of course, that wasn't going to last.
"Hey Ginny," Joss poked me. "Check out the Etherpad thing."
I turned suspicious and ctrl-tabbed on Joss's (again with the possessives) computer--only because he had Chrome and I had Opera and Opera and Google Docs are not compatible, so we had switched computers--until I reached the Etherpad tab. There, next to the red block, was the name "God."
I immediately remembered the book Tea had talked about, and changed Joss's name to "Are you there, God? It's me, Margaret," and mine to "Yes, it's me, God."
"Mogley," I said, spying our next victim. "Can I see your Etherpad thing for a moment?"
Mogley stared at me skeptically. "Why?"
"Just checking something."
Reluctantly, Mogley handed over his computer. I typed in "It's me, Annie. I hate you, Margaret."
"What?" Mogley stared at me weirdly. Lots of staring going on lately, it seemed.
I scuttled back to my computer and started typing in the Etherpad chat window. Joss punctuated every few lines with some random comment, such as SPARTA. Of course. After a while, Mogley caught on to what we were doing as well, and changed his name to "Reese, if you read this, you are going to suffer in seven days."
"You're nice," I said, sarcastically. I really liked the Annie line, so I put it in Reese's namespot instead.
"Whatever," Mogley said. He called out to Reese to check Etherpad, so, of course, Reese joined in on our chat virtually.
Annie (Reese): what Mogley? (Reese had actually used another nickname, but that would probably make Mogley's identity too clear.)
God (apparently me): hey Annie.
Annie: hey God.
God: how's life, Annie?
Annie: it's great, God.
Margaret (Joss): LOL\
Annie: :(|
Margaret: LOLOLOLOLOL
Annie: ....... (and on and on and on, but I don't like the dots so much myself.)
Reese (Mogley): yo cease.
And of course, Reese (the real one) proceeded to spam the chat with lots of dots. I offered up a virtual challenge, saying that I could probably out-spam him. Reese took it on willingly, and we started spamming the entire chat with gibberish letters (me) and lines of dots (Reese).
Suddenly, Reese said, "Who's typing?"
Oh wow. So he didn't know it was me. Joss, Mogley, and I all started laughing (rather suspiciously). Ben just buried his head into his work.
"Come on, it's one of you guys. Who's typing? Joss?"
"It's not me," Joss said.
"So it's Mogley then," Reese concluded.
"Nope," Mogley said. "I think you can tell who I am in the chat."
"Come on, who is it?"
"The one person you're not guessing," Joss said, "is actually the one you're looking for."
Mar. 4: Test Mornings
I am very, very happy I am not a sophomore right now.
There are some things I do not like about junior year (research paper, hello? and in response to my English teacher's reply to Mogley's remark of not being a "published author," I would rather not be known for my research paper, what with its present quality), but let's face it. Standardized tests are miserable. Standardized tests that last for a very, very long period of time (weeks, in fact) is downright dreadful.
Apr. 18: Undoubtedly Bored Again
Was a questionnaire. Probably didn't post it because I had other, more interesting things to talk about later (i.e. Princeton). Will post it later, maybe. Dino's not in this one. Hmm.
May 4: Santiago's Where It's At
Okay, this reminds me, we (me, Gretchen, Tea, maybe others) are right now suspended, perhaps indefinitely, above the Pacific Ocean. Not a good place to be when you're in a plane. So hopefully I'll move us out of here.
But here's the excerpt:
Ever since our trip to Easter Island, we (meaning me, Gretch, and Tea) have been stranded in limbo land because of the late onslaught of tests and such, so we (mostly me) decided that now would be a good time to actually arrive at Santiago and not be indefinitely stranded in mid-air.
Then Gretchen told me that she, too, wishes to be somewhere (mostly Japan) and not stuck in mid-air where weird currents can blow us over to Area 51 where Dino hangs out on spare weekends communicating with the other robots and aliens in a modified Morse code, so I decided that, yes, today would be a good time to arrive at Santiago.
And that's it, I suppose. This is very, very long because of that "Overdue" post that I should have posted earlier (ahem, a few months earlier), but I'd never gotten around to due to HUSH. Otherwise just a few things that I might have missed that I think should be out here and not lost forever.
Also, please, dear neighbor, plant your trees back. I don't want to die of CO2 poisoning.
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
Monday, May 31, 2010
McGill: Metropolitan; Middlebury: Many Dorms?
Remember in year 12905120348BC I once said that I would do almost anything (taking out huge student loans not included) to go to a school in the US, and not in Canada? Well, my parents and I went up to Montreal to visit McGill this weekend (after an hour-long wait in customs), and now I can sufficiently say I have changed my mind. I wouldn't mind going to McGill either, even if it's not very high on my list of priorities.
(The really cute red-haired guy with those dark green-blue eyes that reminded me of Brent Tarleton may have something to do with it. Maybe.)
Before this college-visit-and-all-around-trip thing, I'd been to Princeton (with Tea and Avon), Dartmouth, and Amherst. All three of them are pretty secluded schools, in small towns that are a good distance away from the nearest city. McGill—not so much the case. While it's not located in the heart of Montreal (which, judging from where a lot of the souvenir shops are located, would be in Old Montreal), it's pretty much downtown. A blown-up map of the downtown section has the campus at the edge, and when you look out the gates, you see tall skyscrapers, bustling streets, and lots of people.
Another thing that's different. McGill (like many, if not most, other Canadian schools) has a lot of students. While University of Toronto probably claims the most-populated-school title (to my knowledge, anyway), McGill has some 30,000 people, more or less. That's a lot of people, in a campus that is not particularly big. So the buildings, although not taking up a lot of space, are pretty high.
We were going to go to the Welcome Centre, where we could pick up self-guided tours, but the doors were locked. So I asked around a bit, and finally, whom I shall call Brent from now on told me that the bookstore might have some information, and he pointed us towards what we later found out was a library (the bookstore was behind the library). I got a map of the campus, and thus, we began our self-guided tour (because real tours won't start until June, and we're impatient).
On the right of the campus (if you look in from the front gates) are the science buildings—chemistry, physics, geoscience, environmental, and an anatomy/dentistry building. We mostly walked along there (skipping all the art/music/English buildings, because I only had five minutes to copy down which building was what, and so I skipped them). When we were walking away from the chemistry building, a couple of fire trucks came along, sirens blaring, and stopped in front of said building. We watched for a while, trying to figure out if a lab was on fire, but we couldn't figure anything out, so we went to the medical "wing." This was an oddly shaped (it resembles a drumstick) building, tucked behind the biology block, with mostly glass walls. Really pretty.
I don't think we ever figured out where the math department was, which was a pity. Our self-guided tour of McGill ended somewhere after the med/bio sector. The next day, we drove up Mont-Royal (much less exciting because I'd been there once before), then we wanted to go to the Jardin Botanique, but we couldn't stay for long, so we left for Williams, which was our next destination.
Since we wanted to see the islands between New York and Vermont, on our way to Williams we took Route 2 (and the ferry) across to Grand Isle, then onto the bridge and down Route 7 in Vermont, which leads straight to Williamstown. I got a map of Vermont on the island, and it was because of the map that we discovered that Middlebury was along the route as well, and so we made a detour there first.
(Somewhere here, we passed by this motorcycle parade filled with hundreds of motorcycles—and motorcyclists—whirring past us. It was really spectacular.)
Middlebury is probably the stark opposite of McGill. Whereas McGill was in the middle of a busy cosmopolitan city, with tall, modern buildings and the vibe of a city, Middlebury was calm, quiet, and sombre, with its grey stone buildings protruding from the ground in a neat pattern. We got a self-guide brochure from the admissions office, and followed along the route they told us to go.
The entire conversation of the tour basically went like this (all additional commentary are removed):
"Hey, what's this?"—"Dorms."—"Another dorm."—"Another dorm."—"Dining hall."—"Dorm."—"Dorm."—"That's a pretty building."—"It's another dorm."—"Oh! Science building!"—"What's that?"—"Another dorm."
(I can't type "dorm" now without thinking that it looks weird.)
We did find the academic buildings near the end of the tour (and we ended with the library, but it closed half an hour ago), and then we saw the athletic fields, including a small paddle-tennis court and a golf course. I thought the stone buildings were a bit drab, but they were very elegant, even if more than half of them were dorm buildings.
After Middlebury, we went (on track) to Williams. Compared to Middlebury, most of Williams' buildings are made of red brick, and instead of Middlebury's near-complete seclusion, the structure of the campus just flows into the town itself, with two major roads cutting through the middle of campus. It was somewhat difficult to navigate through campus and figure out what each building was supposed to be (we had a map, but it was not very informative), and after walking through two campuses, I was a bit tired. Nonetheless, I did like the small-town feel of Williams, even if it's not my favorite.
(We also saw two Memorial Day parades, and they were really fascinating to watch. I'm sad I missed our town's parade though. I got an email from Mrs. MacDonald asking for people to hold some banner of some sort? Does any of you know who did it?)
We went mountain-climbing as well, up Mt. Greylock, and up the tower on the summit. It was very fun, mostly because we rode the car up the mountain, as opposed to hiking up the side, so it was much less tiring on such a hot, sunny day. I also collected a lot of maps and brochures, which will be fun to read.
Which reminds me, I still have to read two acts of Othello for tomorrow. I was going to read it over the weekend, but as you can see, I was very distracted.
Also, my visited campuses ranking list thus far:
1. Princeton (what a surprise...)
2. Amherst
3. Middlebury
4. McGill
5. Williams
6. Dartmouth
(The really cute red-haired guy with those dark green-blue eyes that reminded me of Brent Tarleton may have something to do with it. Maybe.)
Before this college-visit-and-all-around-trip thing, I'd been to Princeton (with Tea and Avon), Dartmouth, and Amherst. All three of them are pretty secluded schools, in small towns that are a good distance away from the nearest city. McGill—not so much the case. While it's not located in the heart of Montreal (which, judging from where a lot of the souvenir shops are located, would be in Old Montreal), it's pretty much downtown. A blown-up map of the downtown section has the campus at the edge, and when you look out the gates, you see tall skyscrapers, bustling streets, and lots of people.
Another thing that's different. McGill (like many, if not most, other Canadian schools) has a lot of students. While University of Toronto probably claims the most-populated-school title (to my knowledge, anyway), McGill has some 30,000 people, more or less. That's a lot of people, in a campus that is not particularly big. So the buildings, although not taking up a lot of space, are pretty high.
We were going to go to the Welcome Centre, where we could pick up self-guided tours, but the doors were locked. So I asked around a bit, and finally, whom I shall call Brent from now on told me that the bookstore might have some information, and he pointed us towards what we later found out was a library (the bookstore was behind the library). I got a map of the campus, and thus, we began our self-guided tour (because real tours won't start until June, and we're impatient).
On the right of the campus (if you look in from the front gates) are the science buildings—chemistry, physics, geoscience, environmental, and an anatomy/dentistry building. We mostly walked along there (skipping all the art/music/English buildings, because I only had five minutes to copy down which building was what, and so I skipped them). When we were walking away from the chemistry building, a couple of fire trucks came along, sirens blaring, and stopped in front of said building. We watched for a while, trying to figure out if a lab was on fire, but we couldn't figure anything out, so we went to the medical "wing." This was an oddly shaped (it resembles a drumstick) building, tucked behind the biology block, with mostly glass walls. Really pretty.
I don't think we ever figured out where the math department was, which was a pity. Our self-guided tour of McGill ended somewhere after the med/bio sector. The next day, we drove up Mont-Royal (much less exciting because I'd been there once before), then we wanted to go to the Jardin Botanique, but we couldn't stay for long, so we left for Williams, which was our next destination.
Since we wanted to see the islands between New York and Vermont, on our way to Williams we took Route 2 (and the ferry) across to Grand Isle, then onto the bridge and down Route 7 in Vermont, which leads straight to Williamstown. I got a map of Vermont on the island, and it was because of the map that we discovered that Middlebury was along the route as well, and so we made a detour there first.
(Somewhere here, we passed by this motorcycle parade filled with hundreds of motorcycles—and motorcyclists—whirring past us. It was really spectacular.)
Middlebury is probably the stark opposite of McGill. Whereas McGill was in the middle of a busy cosmopolitan city, with tall, modern buildings and the vibe of a city, Middlebury was calm, quiet, and sombre, with its grey stone buildings protruding from the ground in a neat pattern. We got a self-guide brochure from the admissions office, and followed along the route they told us to go.
The entire conversation of the tour basically went like this (all additional commentary are removed):
"Hey, what's this?"—"Dorms."—"Another dorm."—"Another dorm."—"Dining hall."—"Dorm."—"Dorm."—"That's a pretty building."—"It's another dorm."—"Oh! Science building!"—"What's that?"—"Another dorm."
(I can't type "dorm" now without thinking that it looks weird.)
We did find the academic buildings near the end of the tour (and we ended with the library, but it closed half an hour ago), and then we saw the athletic fields, including a small paddle-tennis court and a golf course. I thought the stone buildings were a bit drab, but they were very elegant, even if more than half of them were dorm buildings.
After Middlebury, we went (on track) to Williams. Compared to Middlebury, most of Williams' buildings are made of red brick, and instead of Middlebury's near-complete seclusion, the structure of the campus just flows into the town itself, with two major roads cutting through the middle of campus. It was somewhat difficult to navigate through campus and figure out what each building was supposed to be (we had a map, but it was not very informative), and after walking through two campuses, I was a bit tired. Nonetheless, I did like the small-town feel of Williams, even if it's not my favorite.
(We also saw two Memorial Day parades, and they were really fascinating to watch. I'm sad I missed our town's parade though. I got an email from Mrs. MacDonald asking for people to hold some banner of some sort? Does any of you know who did it?)
We went mountain-climbing as well, up Mt. Greylock, and up the tower on the summit. It was very fun, mostly because we rode the car up the mountain, as opposed to hiking up the side, so it was much less tiring on such a hot, sunny day. I also collected a lot of maps and brochures, which will be fun to read.
Which reminds me, I still have to read two acts of Othello for tomorrow. I was going to read it over the weekend, but as you can see, I was very distracted.
Also, my visited campuses ranking list thus far:
1. Princeton (what a surprise...)
2. Amherst
3. Middlebury
4. McGill
5. Williams
6. Dartmouth
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Ha, homework? What homework?
Mrs. MacDonald had told us that period 6 would have a stat party today, and Micky said, "Oh, we should have had a stat party today. It would have been perfect."
Perfect, because we don't meet on Fridays, and the seniors will be gone on their internships next week. Not so perfect, because half the class was not here due to the AP econ/world tests. Of course, we conveniently skipped over that fact and only lamented on our lack of forethought and preparation. Then, Ali asked if we could go to lunch, and Mrs. MacDonald agreed, so we got an extra fifteen minutes.
Tea had told me earlier that Ms. Sherbert had my Le Petit Prince book, the one that I had lost on the bus during my trip to New England's, so I went to find her. On my way to her office/supply room, I saw Argon and one of his friends outside the chem room (there are technically more than one room for chemistry, but I have had both years of chem in the same room, so I call it the chem room). I asked him about the stat party, and he said, "Yeah, we're having a party in stat." Hint: there is foreshadowing here.
Yuma then walked by, and so we had a gathering in the hallway, talking about our ridiculous day so far (half of the people in almost all of our classes were not there). Then Mr. Turkey, the chem teacher, came along, and so the sophomores went inside.
"We should go in and say hi to Mr. Turkey," Yuma said. Yuma and I were in the same chem class with Mr. Turkey last year. I agreed, so we went in, where Argon was seated in the front row, and Yuma pointed out the seat behind him and said, "I used to sit there."
I pointed to Chrissy's seat, which is next to Argon's, and said, "I used to sit there."
There was also a name joke here made by Argon (although I had noticed it a long time ago, and mentioned it to him before, but he probably used that part of his memory-brain to remember some crucial fact that could save the world but that I can never remember), but the joke is better with our real names.
Several hours (maybe two) later, as I was walking to my health classroom, I saw Argon again, and I asked him how the stat party went.
"Oh, it was supposed to be tomorrow," he said, but he had a piece of cookie with him, so I assume other people forgot as well. "We just got a packet."
"Yeah, so did we. Then we just did whatever we wanted, which was mostly homework. I've been busy doing so much homework in my AP classes now."
"Why, do you have a lot of homework?"
"No, I just don't do them at home anymore."
To be fair, I haven't really been doing anything in my other classes either. In US, we watched a movie (granted, Civil Rights related). In health, we played health/STI/drug related Sporcle quizzes, then digressed to other, non-health specific quizzes, such as naming the first 151 Pokemons. But that wasn't nearly as fun as my physics class, where we merged with an A-level class and listened to the potential physics teacher candidate's lecture and did a lab with lasers, jello, and real, metal knives.
English was the only class I actually did work in, and I linked Huck's decision to save Jim to the white supremacy we were learning in US. One of the reasons why I like taking English 3 (which focuses on American literature) and US history together. I've been able to do these connections between the two classes for almost every unit/book.
Perfect, because we don't meet on Fridays, and the seniors will be gone on their internships next week. Not so perfect, because half the class was not here due to the AP econ/world tests. Of course, we conveniently skipped over that fact and only lamented on our lack of forethought and preparation. Then, Ali asked if we could go to lunch, and Mrs. MacDonald agreed, so we got an extra fifteen minutes.
Tea had told me earlier that Ms. Sherbert had my Le Petit Prince book, the one that I had lost on the bus during my trip to New England's, so I went to find her. On my way to her office/supply room, I saw Argon and one of his friends outside the chem room (there are technically more than one room for chemistry, but I have had both years of chem in the same room, so I call it the chem room). I asked him about the stat party, and he said, "Yeah, we're having a party in stat." Hint: there is foreshadowing here.
Yuma then walked by, and so we had a gathering in the hallway, talking about our ridiculous day so far (half of the people in almost all of our classes were not there). Then Mr. Turkey, the chem teacher, came along, and so the sophomores went inside.
"We should go in and say hi to Mr. Turkey," Yuma said. Yuma and I were in the same chem class with Mr. Turkey last year. I agreed, so we went in, where Argon was seated in the front row, and Yuma pointed out the seat behind him and said, "I used to sit there."
I pointed to Chrissy's seat, which is next to Argon's, and said, "I used to sit there."
There was also a name joke here made by Argon (although I had noticed it a long time ago, and mentioned it to him before, but he probably used that part of his memory-brain to remember some crucial fact that could save the world but that I can never remember), but the joke is better with our real names.
Several hours (maybe two) later, as I was walking to my health classroom, I saw Argon again, and I asked him how the stat party went.
"Oh, it was supposed to be tomorrow," he said, but he had a piece of cookie with him, so I assume other people forgot as well. "We just got a packet."
"Yeah, so did we. Then we just did whatever we wanted, which was mostly homework. I've been busy doing so much homework in my AP classes now."
"Why, do you have a lot of homework?"
"No, I just don't do them at home anymore."
To be fair, I haven't really been doing anything in my other classes either. In US, we watched a movie (granted, Civil Rights related). In health, we played health/STI/drug related Sporcle quizzes, then digressed to other, non-health specific quizzes, such as naming the first 151 Pokemons. But that wasn't nearly as fun as my physics class, where we merged with an A-level class and listened to the potential physics teacher candidate's lecture and did a lab with lasers, jello, and real, metal knives.
English was the only class I actually did work in, and I linked Huck's decision to save Jim to the white supremacy we were learning in US. One of the reasons why I like taking English 3 (which focuses on American literature) and US history together. I've been able to do these connections between the two classes for almost every unit/book.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Because We Believe In Equality
This was started yesterday. Anything that mentions "this morning" or "today" means April 1st.
First of all, this post is entirely dedicated to evening out the huge discrepancy in the assignment of labels (or "libellés," as my Blogger page now displays, because I just recently converted it into French as part of an ongoing project to have everything I use be explained in French). Therefore, this page is dedicated to talking about those people who I have mentioned more than once or twice (since those that I only mention once or so I probably won't really talk about anyway, although I might) but have definitely mentioned less than ten times (effectively weeding out those two whom I shall not mention).
So, after scanning my alphabetized label list, these are the people I will blog about today (if this is necessary again, there will be a repeat of this post to some extent) in alphabetical order:
That's it, really. Any more, and Blogger won't let me label them due to the "maximum 20 labels at a time" rule. Anyway. The tidbits about these people that happened since the last time I talked about them, or whenever, really.
Camel: I think he has a jacket complex as well (first thing that popped into my mind, since nothing really interesting happened in chem today—except Mr. Coffee's friend jumping from the roof into a pool thirty feet below or crawling into a crypt and scaring people for fun). In fact, now that I think of it, a lot of the guys I know seem to have a favorite jacket that they will wear allday week long. Camel has this dark blue jacket, which is not particularly ugly (although I may not be the best judge for fashion), but after seeing it for several months in a row (maybe with the occasional AC/DC shirt in between), I may have permanently associated him with his jacket.
(He is also on my bus, and I have seen him wearing that jacket ever since before I even really knew him, so this may be another reason why.)
(Dino, whom I shall not tag because there is no space anymore, and Jack, not tagged for similar reasons, both also have a jacket they almost always wears. Argon has his sleeping-bag-like thing he carries around with him, although with the warmer weather he has now acquired a new, navy colored jacket which is a tad bit too big for him, but he'll probably grow into it. This morning, at gym, we were standing together and he commented on how he might finally be taller than me, as he always had a notion that he was shorter. We later decided it may have been because of the shoes—his heels were significantly taller, as I had been wearing really, really flat shoes.)
(And I thought this was supposed to be about Camel? Anyway. Next.)
Dora: This is also rather unrelated to Dora, but she was sitting at the table and so this story will be filed under her name. This morning, before class started, Dora and Tierra were already seated at a table in the library. I joined them, and Gretchen (who is below, I know, but there will be another story for her) and Kathrya and Tybalt (wow, this story has a lot of people in it) came as well. Kathrya commented on how her friends were more mature, because "they didn't start singing wedding songs."
Later on, Dino walked in to the library (why does everything have to always include him?), and someone said, "He walks strangely." This was met with a chorus of agreements, and Kathrya's remark, "Now where is Ginny?" before realizing that I was standing right next to her.
(I need to stop making Dino appear in this. The whole point of this was so he wouldn't be mentioned as often compared to the others.)
(I also saw Dora in English today, but we watched a movie—"Death of a Salesman"—so we didn't get to talk to each other.)
Gretchen: I don't know why Gretchen's never broken ten labels. This will probably change with the Chile trips (I'm still working on Easter Island—I really am!), but in the meantime, I will insert a link here to her blog. I'm not certain that my blog sees more traffic than hers, but in the minute event it does, we can pool them just like pooling standard deviations in a difference of means test. Except in this case, Gretch's sample size may be larger than mine, so pooled variances may not be the best bet.
Irving: I must say, I haven't seen Irving around today. Strange. Usually, I see him sauntering down the hallway (well, he doesn't really do that, but he does walk differently in a way), going to a class that's in the opposite direction of mine. Perhaps our constant existence on the third floor is a reason why I see him so much. So instead of a personal recount, I will broadcast the (probably by now commonly known) news that he got into Harvard. Wow. Well, I mean, he deserves it and everything, but that's still very, very amazing.
(Yeah. That's about it. No wonder he isn't tagged so much.)
Joss: Let's see. Joss believes that the secret to teleporting is to throw a smoke bomb and then run really, really fast. He also still needs to pay Reese (or do something else, but I'm not sure what) so Reese can teach me grammar, so I can teach him how to draw clothes. Although, if you ask me, I doubt my pictures of clothes are correct all of the time. I just add folds randomly (or in obvious places). I also don't know how well this whole exchange thing will go. Too many unknown variables, I suppose.
Mario: I don't see Mario that much lately, or maybe I still do but I no longer respond to his appearance. Well, anyway, I saw him during lunch today, along with Tea and Bryant and Boris. He seemed rather preoccupied with his SAT vocab book. Which reminds me, I should probably also study my vocab, if I wish to avoid the same fate as Bryant's. Or just cram Latin roots. Those always help.
Melissa: I didn't see Melissa today—away at a college thing or something, I believe. I still need to get a cupcake recipe from her as well. This may also be the shortest one yet, because I have not talked to Melissa in such a long time. She doesn't really go to math team anymore. Maybe that's why.
Mogley: He is weird. One of the weird guys I know (and by far not the weirdest) but definitely weird. He was attempting yet another 6x6 sudoku in English today. I asked him if he ever tried the 9x9 one (because honestly, 6x6 isn't really sudoku; it's like diluted HCl—isn't quite the same as the original), and he said that he had tried one today, but messed up. Compared to Mogley, Matt is a sudoku whiz. (The extraordinary amount of time Matt devotes to sudoku every day may be the reason though. If this keeps up, I'll begin to fail stat.)
(Also, as compensation for his horrible sudoku skills, Mogley said that he was getting better at the Jumble questions. I guess you can't have everything.)
Mrs. James: I walked into calc today just as Mrs. James said, "I really want a Snapple!" I have no idea how this whole Snapple thing started (which also reminds me of the xkcd strip on the tin apple—I'm reading too much xkcd, it's definitely not good for me).
Jay then said, "I have a Snapple in my bag."
"Really?" Mrs. James asked, all excited.
"Nope, April Fools!"
(This went on for several minutes, in which many people in the class took turns saying they had a Snapple in their bag—Scott said he had over 100 of them at home—and then saying, "April Fools!" Mrs. James retaliated by telling Jay, "Oh, I'm going to give you an A+ for the quarter—wait, April Fools!")
Mrs. MacDonald: Is conducting an experiment on the number of texts people send and receive in an average class period. It's due to begin next week, and will last an entire week. Statistically speaking (although I knew before I ever took stat), if texting in class is so prevalent, I (and Matt) will definitely be outliers. My phone doesn't allow text messages. Matt's too preoccupied by his crosswords and sudokus and Jumbles and word finds to care about texting (he also has an iPhone, which may deter texting as he can't physically touch the keys on his phone to know which letters he's typing if he placed the phone in his pocket or something).
Nyx: Said that her phone's autotexting dictionary does not have the word "zombie." This prompted Camel to say, "What if there was a zombie invasion, and only you knew about it? You have to text people, but then you'd have to type 'zombie' out, and by that time the zombie might have already attacked you!" Also, her phone doesn't have "haha" as a word either. (Tybalt should be glad he doesn't have this phone. He would be seriously crippled in his texting abilities.)
(This also reminds me, Scott is now called "Texty-Pants" in our calc class, because he tried to text under the table, and, when caught by Mrs. James, attempted to deny it.)
Owen: Will be receiving his alpaca soon. Alpacas, according to my research yesterday, likes being in groups of two or more, and around six to eight alpacas can live on one acre of land. I hope Owen's backyard is large enough, because he needs to keep at least two alpacas to ensure that his alpaca doesn't die of loneliness, and so he needs at least 1/4 of an acre of land set aside for this special, special friend (and its girlfriend, but the girlfriend would be much more expensive).
Reese: I have yet to see his shiny new laptop. Among other things, but this is the first that pops up. (Camel supposedly made Reese's old laptop crash via remote accessing, so that's why Reese needed a new one.) I've been promised that this new one is every bit as shiny as the last, except perhaps not red anymore and not the one that underwent SSSC's brutal conditions.
Stella: Is probably on another bout of "I-hate-school-ism." I haven't asked yet, but the past few times I've talked with her, she has complained about the, to quote her words, "the stupid people." She is really the opposite of many people I know. I mean, most people, regardless of what they say, at least care a little about their grades and their futures. Stella just doesn't care anymore.
We talked about our futures for some brief moment before, mostly with me asking her what she would do after high school. She didn't want to talk about it, and I agree with that sentiment. I don't know what I want to with my life after high school. I mean, I obviously want to go to a good college, but why? And which one? Whatever college I go to—that's my future path there. If I go to McGill (which is probably very likely at this point), that means I'll most likely be focusing on pre-med. If I go to UBC or, although very unlikely, Penn, I would be going down the path of economics. If I go to Waterloo (yeah right, I'll be crushed by all the crazy Canadian math geeks, since that's the school for math and science oriented people in Canada) or Cornell (again, unlikely, especially with their financial aid situation), it's probably engineering. And then there are the schools we consider mostly for their prestige—Harvard, Yale, and the rest of the Ivies along with a few other schools. Are they really that much better? We (not including me, because the probability of me getting in those places is very, very, extremely, very slim—statistically speaking), as some of the brightest among our peers, do everything we can in order to get into one of these schools, conforming to their ideals of what is a "perfect" student, just so we can bear the honor of having gone to such a school and gain the privilege of acquiring a good-paying job and the respect of others.
(God, maybe I should just go get a job to paint the Golden Gate Bridge like I've always said I should.)
(Well, there are also the good points, like learning new things with teachers who really know what they're talking about—granted I understand them.)
Tamir: I don't know why I have mentioned him so often. Really. We barely talk. Let's see. I saw Tamir in physics today, and he complained about the magnetism unit. Or maybe that was Alec. Then I saw him in English, but he didn't talk because we were watching a movie.
Yeah, boring. Next.
Tea: I also can't believe I have not talked about Tea very often in my blog. I think it's mostly because everything I know about Tea, she pretty much blog about it anyway. Well, I will insert a link here to promote her blog instead, although I'll bet she doesn't need any promotion from me because her faithful followers are much more numerous than mine. Just in case I have a lurker though.
(Also, as a note to Tea: your "about" page doesn't link to an actual about page. Mine doesn't either—all I've managed to set up was the "contact" part. I think I half started an "about me" page and then forgot about it.)
Tybalt: Just a general question out there (to those who know about it)—does Tybalt know of my, uh, hopefully-will-be-affiliation with Dino? (Once again, Dino is EVERYWHERE. I think I'm getting obsessed.) Otherwise, I have not seen him since this morning with Kathrya, and since Kathrya's story has already been told in Dora's place, I won't repeat it again.
(In his place, I will talk about Bryant, who was barely eliminated because he has exactly ten labels. Today, as I handed in my chem test corrections, I saw Bryant's "test corrections," namely his name, the title, and nothing else on it. Later on, he said that receiving a 3/3 on those test corrections actually brought his grade down. Ugh. He kind of makes me jealous sometimes.)
Vincent: I think I've pretty much covered everything about him before. I don't remember if I've seen him today. Maybe I have.
UPDATE: (from Facebook, my constant source of information) Apparently Vincent's family is moving out of state? He's currently asking if he can board at someone's house for nine months. I seriously doubt this will happen (although you never know), but I do hope he can stay. Who else will I be able to discuss plans for travelling to alternate universes via thousands of giant lasers with?
(There is always Dino—ugh, him again!—but I think he would probably even prefer owning his own alpaca over talking about lasers.)
Zephy: We went Easter egg-hunting today! Zephy's a natural at these things, as she found four or five eggs in the library alone, in under ten minutes. I have no idea why there were eggs everywhere (someone in my calc class said she knew who put them there, but wouldn't tell us). Also, this reminds me, I still need to give her back her chocolate egg, because I was carrying it in my plastic egg container since she had too much candy to fit inside hers. I was supposed to give it back, but I completely forgot about it until after we said goodbye when we got off the bus. Huh. I suppose chocolate won't go stale anytime soon.
(Hmm...)
Actually, considering how long this thing is, I probably will not ever do this again. At least not with so many people. I'll just talk about Dino and Argon less. Maybe.
First of all, this post is entirely dedicated to evening out the huge discrepancy in the assignment of labels (or "libellés," as my Blogger page now displays, because I just recently converted it into French as part of an ongoing project to have everything I use be explained in French). Therefore, this page is dedicated to talking about those people who I have mentioned more than once or twice (since those that I only mention once or so I probably won't really talk about anyway, although I might) but have definitely mentioned less than ten times (effectively weeding out those two whom I shall not mention).
So, after scanning my alphabetized label list, these are the people I will blog about today (if this is necessary again, there will be a repeat of this post to some extent) in alphabetical order:
- Camel
- Dora
- Gretchen
- Irving
- Joss
- Mario
- Melissa
- Mogley
- Mrs. James
- Mrs. MacDonald
- Nyx
- Owen
- Reese
- Stella
- Tamir
- Tea
- Tybalt
- Vincent
- Zephy
That's it, really. Any more, and Blogger won't let me label them due to the "maximum 20 labels at a time" rule. Anyway. The tidbits about these people that happened since the last time I talked about them, or whenever, really.
Camel: I think he has a jacket complex as well (first thing that popped into my mind, since nothing really interesting happened in chem today—except Mr. Coffee's friend jumping from the roof into a pool thirty feet below or crawling into a crypt and scaring people for fun). In fact, now that I think of it, a lot of the guys I know seem to have a favorite jacket that they will wear all
(He is also on my bus, and I have seen him wearing that jacket ever since before I even really knew him, so this may be another reason why.)
(Dino, whom I shall not tag because there is no space anymore, and Jack, not tagged for similar reasons, both also have a jacket they almost always wears. Argon has his sleeping-bag-like thing he carries around with him, although with the warmer weather he has now acquired a new, navy colored jacket which is a tad bit too big for him, but he'll probably grow into it. This morning, at gym, we were standing together and he commented on how he might finally be taller than me, as he always had a notion that he was shorter. We later decided it may have been because of the shoes—his heels were significantly taller, as I had been wearing really, really flat shoes.)
(And I thought this was supposed to be about Camel? Anyway. Next.)
Dora: This is also rather unrelated to Dora, but she was sitting at the table and so this story will be filed under her name. This morning, before class started, Dora and Tierra were already seated at a table in the library. I joined them, and Gretchen (who is below, I know, but there will be another story for her) and Kathrya and Tybalt (wow, this story has a lot of people in it) came as well. Kathrya commented on how her friends were more mature, because "they didn't start singing wedding songs."
Later on, Dino walked in to the library (why does everything have to always include him?), and someone said, "He walks strangely." This was met with a chorus of agreements, and Kathrya's remark, "Now where is Ginny?" before realizing that I was standing right next to her.
(I need to stop making Dino appear in this. The whole point of this was so he wouldn't be mentioned as often compared to the others.)
(I also saw Dora in English today, but we watched a movie—"Death of a Salesman"—so we didn't get to talk to each other.)
Gretchen: I don't know why Gretchen's never broken ten labels. This will probably change with the Chile trips (I'm still working on Easter Island—I really am!), but in the meantime, I will insert a link here to her blog. I'm not certain that my blog sees more traffic than hers, but in the minute event it does, we can pool them just like pooling standard deviations in a difference of means test. Except in this case, Gretch's sample size may be larger than mine, so pooled variances may not be the best bet.
Irving: I must say, I haven't seen Irving around today. Strange. Usually, I see him sauntering down the hallway (well, he doesn't really do that, but he does walk differently in a way), going to a class that's in the opposite direction of mine. Perhaps our constant existence on the third floor is a reason why I see him so much. So instead of a personal recount, I will broadcast the (probably by now commonly known) news that he got into Harvard. Wow. Well, I mean, he deserves it and everything, but that's still very, very amazing.
(Yeah. That's about it. No wonder he isn't tagged so much.)
Joss: Let's see. Joss believes that the secret to teleporting is to throw a smoke bomb and then run really, really fast. He also still needs to pay Reese (or do something else, but I'm not sure what) so Reese can teach me grammar, so I can teach him how to draw clothes. Although, if you ask me, I doubt my pictures of clothes are correct all of the time. I just add folds randomly (or in obvious places). I also don't know how well this whole exchange thing will go. Too many unknown variables, I suppose.
Mario: I don't see Mario that much lately, or maybe I still do but I no longer respond to his appearance. Well, anyway, I saw him during lunch today, along with Tea and Bryant and Boris. He seemed rather preoccupied with his SAT vocab book. Which reminds me, I should probably also study my vocab, if I wish to avoid the same fate as Bryant's. Or just cram Latin roots. Those always help.
Melissa: I didn't see Melissa today—away at a college thing or something, I believe. I still need to get a cupcake recipe from her as well. This may also be the shortest one yet, because I have not talked to Melissa in such a long time. She doesn't really go to math team anymore. Maybe that's why.
Mogley: He is weird. One of the weird guys I know (and by far not the weirdest) but definitely weird. He was attempting yet another 6x6 sudoku in English today. I asked him if he ever tried the 9x9 one (because honestly, 6x6 isn't really sudoku; it's like diluted HCl—isn't quite the same as the original), and he said that he had tried one today, but messed up. Compared to Mogley, Matt is a sudoku whiz. (The extraordinary amount of time Matt devotes to sudoku every day may be the reason though. If this keeps up, I'll begin to fail stat.)
(Also, as compensation for his horrible sudoku skills, Mogley said that he was getting better at the Jumble questions. I guess you can't have everything.)
Mrs. James: I walked into calc today just as Mrs. James said, "I really want a Snapple!" I have no idea how this whole Snapple thing started (which also reminds me of the xkcd strip on the tin apple—I'm reading too much xkcd, it's definitely not good for me).
Jay then said, "I have a Snapple in my bag."
"Really?" Mrs. James asked, all excited.
"Nope, April Fools!"
(This went on for several minutes, in which many people in the class took turns saying they had a Snapple in their bag—Scott said he had over 100 of them at home—and then saying, "April Fools!" Mrs. James retaliated by telling Jay, "Oh, I'm going to give you an A+ for the quarter—wait, April Fools!")
Mrs. MacDonald: Is conducting an experiment on the number of texts people send and receive in an average class period. It's due to begin next week, and will last an entire week. Statistically speaking (although I knew before I ever took stat), if texting in class is so prevalent, I (and Matt) will definitely be outliers. My phone doesn't allow text messages. Matt's too preoccupied by his crosswords and sudokus and Jumbles and word finds to care about texting (he also has an iPhone, which may deter texting as he can't physically touch the keys on his phone to know which letters he's typing if he placed the phone in his pocket or something).
Nyx: Said that her phone's autotexting dictionary does not have the word "zombie." This prompted Camel to say, "What if there was a zombie invasion, and only you knew about it? You have to text people, but then you'd have to type 'zombie' out, and by that time the zombie might have already attacked you!" Also, her phone doesn't have "haha" as a word either. (Tybalt should be glad he doesn't have this phone. He would be seriously crippled in his texting abilities.)
(This also reminds me, Scott is now called "Texty-Pants" in our calc class, because he tried to text under the table, and, when caught by Mrs. James, attempted to deny it.)
Owen: Will be receiving his alpaca soon. Alpacas, according to my research yesterday, likes being in groups of two or more, and around six to eight alpacas can live on one acre of land. I hope Owen's backyard is large enough, because he needs to keep at least two alpacas to ensure that his alpaca doesn't die of loneliness, and so he needs at least 1/4 of an acre of land set aside for this special, special friend (and its girlfriend, but the girlfriend would be much more expensive).
Reese: I have yet to see his shiny new laptop. Among other things, but this is the first that pops up. (Camel supposedly made Reese's old laptop crash via remote accessing, so that's why Reese needed a new one.) I've been promised that this new one is every bit as shiny as the last, except perhaps not red anymore and not the one that underwent SSSC's brutal conditions.
Stella: Is probably on another bout of "I-hate-school-ism." I haven't asked yet, but the past few times I've talked with her, she has complained about the, to quote her words, "the stupid people." She is really the opposite of many people I know. I mean, most people, regardless of what they say, at least care a little about their grades and their futures. Stella just doesn't care anymore.
We talked about our futures for some brief moment before, mostly with me asking her what she would do after high school. She didn't want to talk about it, and I agree with that sentiment. I don't know what I want to with my life after high school. I mean, I obviously want to go to a good college, but why? And which one? Whatever college I go to—that's my future path there. If I go to McGill (which is probably very likely at this point), that means I'll most likely be focusing on pre-med. If I go to UBC or, although very unlikely, Penn, I would be going down the path of economics. If I go to Waterloo (yeah right, I'll be crushed by all the crazy Canadian math geeks, since that's the school for math and science oriented people in Canada) or Cornell (again, unlikely, especially with their financial aid situation), it's probably engineering. And then there are the schools we consider mostly for their prestige—Harvard, Yale, and the rest of the Ivies along with a few other schools. Are they really that much better? We (not including me, because the probability of me getting in those places is very, very, extremely, very slim—statistically speaking), as some of the brightest among our peers, do everything we can in order to get into one of these schools, conforming to their ideals of what is a "perfect" student, just so we can bear the honor of having gone to such a school and gain the privilege of acquiring a good-paying job and the respect of others.
(God, maybe I should just go get a job to paint the Golden Gate Bridge like I've always said I should.)
(Well, there are also the good points, like learning new things with teachers who really know what they're talking about—granted I understand them.)
Tamir: I don't know why I have mentioned him so often. Really. We barely talk. Let's see. I saw Tamir in physics today, and he complained about the magnetism unit. Or maybe that was Alec. Then I saw him in English, but he didn't talk because we were watching a movie.
Yeah, boring. Next.
Tea: I also can't believe I have not talked about Tea very often in my blog. I think it's mostly because everything I know about Tea, she pretty much blog about it anyway. Well, I will insert a link here to promote her blog instead, although I'll bet she doesn't need any promotion from me because her faithful followers are much more numerous than mine. Just in case I have a lurker though.
(Also, as a note to Tea: your "about" page doesn't link to an actual about page. Mine doesn't either—all I've managed to set up was the "contact" part. I think I half started an "about me" page and then forgot about it.)
Tybalt: Just a general question out there (to those who know about it)—does Tybalt know of my, uh, hopefully-will-be-affiliation with Dino? (Once again, Dino is EVERYWHERE. I think I'm getting obsessed.) Otherwise, I have not seen him since this morning with Kathrya, and since Kathrya's story has already been told in Dora's place, I won't repeat it again.
(In his place, I will talk about Bryant, who was barely eliminated because he has exactly ten labels. Today, as I handed in my chem test corrections, I saw Bryant's "test corrections," namely his name, the title, and nothing else on it. Later on, he said that receiving a 3/3 on those test corrections actually brought his grade down. Ugh. He kind of makes me jealous sometimes.)
Vincent: I think I've pretty much covered everything about him before. I don't remember if I've seen him today. Maybe I have.
UPDATE: (from Facebook, my constant source of information) Apparently Vincent's family is moving out of state? He's currently asking if he can board at someone's house for nine months. I seriously doubt this will happen (although you never know), but I do hope he can stay. Who else will I be able to discuss plans for travelling to alternate universes via thousands of giant lasers with?
(There is always Dino—ugh, him again!—but I think he would probably even prefer owning his own alpaca over talking about lasers.)
Zephy: We went Easter egg-hunting today! Zephy's a natural at these things, as she found four or five eggs in the library alone, in under ten minutes. I have no idea why there were eggs everywhere (someone in my calc class said she knew who put them there, but wouldn't tell us). Also, this reminds me, I still need to give her back her chocolate egg, because I was carrying it in my plastic egg container since she had too much candy to fit inside hers. I was supposed to give it back, but I completely forgot about it until after we said goodbye when we got off the bus. Huh. I suppose chocolate won't go stale anytime soon.
(Hmm...)
Actually, considering how long this thing is, I probably will not ever do this again. At least not with so many people. I'll just talk about Dino and Argon less. Maybe.
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.
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.
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.
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