As if I don't do enough of that these days. I checked my "thoughts" tab and I have 17 of those pesky things. Talking about various things that quite honestly just repeat themselves over and over again. I have no more original thoughts, just trite sayings repackaged in shiny word wrapping.
I would be sure I am boring people, but I only have five people who read my blog, so there is not much of a problem there. And I missed the disjointed way of expressing my thoughts, because it was so easy to digress forgivingly and hide my thoughts behind beautified words and phrases.
. . .
Stella first transferred to our school in grade nine, and our first impression of her was "bookworm and computer geek." She was the girl who read in all of her classes, going through a book every three days.
I was the girl who read while walking down the halls, narrowly avoiding trees and lamp posts and the tangy metal lockers painted brown-green-blue. Who volunteered at the school library in part so she could get new books before everyone else saw them.
Maybe we were destined to be friends.
Or maybe we were only friends because we sat next to each other in BTT, and I was the only girl in the class aside from her who knew how to code a website.
On the bus ride to Niagara Falls she, horrendously bus-sick, slept on my shoulder, and I wondered, what happened to Nora? Since when had I stopped sharing everything with Nora and hung out with Stella instead? Nora, who was as close to a best friend as I had ever had. Stella, who I now walked home with for lunch every single day.
The week we got back the principal's office called for Nora. She went and did not come back for the day. Later on she told me the principal accused her of changing her (and a lot of other people's) grades in our science teacher's grade-book.
"Do they think that, even if I did change it, I would be so stupid as to give myself a really high grade?"
That was what she said. She thought another friend of hers was responsible.
But I remembered doubting her, even though I would have trusted her just a year ago. And I wondered how that had happened. How I had come to realize she was not all that innocent.
. . .
The first time I went back I met up with Clover and JJ. We watched movies at Clover's house and played some Wii game. Then we walked through the dark roads near Finch and Vic Park to JJ's house. Her parents were still awake, anxious, because she had called nearly an hour ago and forgot to call later.
As for my parents, well, they had no idea I was walking outside at midnight.
There are a lot of things my parents did not know about me. A lot more things they still do not know about me. Late-night excursions outside was only one of them.
But for some reason nearly all of these things involve night-time.
I may have a too-deep love for the night. It is, after all, where my dreams flourish. Entangled. Silvery-black. I have written about dreams, and written about night, and I must have written about hiding things from my parents.
So when we stayed up until three in the morning, watching silly dramas that made no sense and trying hard not to sleep, I should not have felt odd. Not at all.
Not nostalgia. I do not know what that means anymore.
. . .
I can feel it in my throat, first. A tingling feeling that trickles down to my stomach. I refuse to believe it is my heart. It strikes when I am at my house, or else when I am with a friend, or else when I am at a party. It is perhaps envy, I think, but that cannot be so when I am alone. It should not be nostalgia, as I am wont to believe, because how can you be nostalgic in your own home?
House, I mean. How can you be nostalgic in your own house?
But the tingling, breath-taking feeling lingers. It starts to hurt to breathe. I am longing for something, I realize. Desperately longing for something that is not quite there. I am reminded of it alone, or else with friends, or else with strangers. It is there when I laugh. It is there when I cry.
Undefinable. Yet ever present.
I think I want something tangible, because I am too materialistic to want something intangible. I want something I can touch, something I can hold. Something that does not ring in my ears as laughter does. Something that smells sweeter than the crumpled shirt by my bed.
I want it so badly I cannot breathe. I can only want. I let it fall down my throat, and when it passes I am normal again, only left with a faint maybe I should.
Maybe I should. But what is it that I should?
I call it nostalgia, even though it cannot be nostalgia, because how can you be nostalgic when you are still in your own house?
Such a ridiculous notion.
. . .
I still talk to Stella sometimes. She is the same. Bookworm. Computer geek. School-hater. A little bit paranoid. Very much so adorably hilarious. I think that is why we all loved her.
She took onto me because I was slightly more computer-literate than everyone else. Not by much. And because I put up with her rants. In return I learned about the precarious situation I was placing my computers into (the ever-present and ever-imminent bot-net threat), why I should play whatever game it was that she was interested in at the time, and someone to walk home with for lunch.
Where she would complain about vegetables.
And we would both agree that we liked potatoes.
She is the first person I talk to when I am going through my list of Canadian friends. And the one who always responds.
But I have not seen her in years.
I always think I am about to lose her. So close. One of these days she will just be a name, and I will stare at it and never muster up the courage to talk to her again. One of these days I will forget the Toronto skyline, forget the summer bright nights and the TTC through Vic Park-Finch-Don Mills. Where Fairview is. The newly renovated Fairview, all huge and glamorous and confusing.
The feeling in my throat is back again.
Showing posts with label Stella. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stella. Show all posts
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
My Dear, I Don't Give a Damn
About trying to figure out what I want anymore. The past few days has gotten me thinking, I suppose, and suddenly I'm tired of thinking. Instead, I want to write. Mindlessly, because heaven knows how much thinking I've been doing lately (especially since some of it concerns heaven).
. . .
"I don't really talk to the old people anymore," Nora told me over the phone.
I nodded, but she couldn't see anyway. I knew who she was talking about. JJ and Clover, and maybe even Stella, although she and Stella were never really close anyway. My most vivid memory of them was the time they fought over who I should follow. I went with Stella that time, and Nora had been mad at me for weeks.
"I've got my boyfriend," she went on to say. "That's all I need now."
Clover told me later that Nora was a "changed girl." I mentioned the boyfriend. Clover had scoffed and asked, "Which one?"
"It's more than I can say," I said. Nora had changed, but so had Clover. So had the city.
But that was later. Right then, all I said was, "I'll call you later, Nora. When I get the time."
Which I never did, rather unfortunately.
But that was all later.
. . .
I did not know her, although my mom did, and that was all that mattered these days. She swirled her coffee-flavoured bubbled tea, just as I sipped on my taro one, and for a moment I could not imagine why anyone would drink anything other than taro-flavoured bubble tea. That it was an acquired taste, even for me.
The small things. The God of Small Things.
"If you don't find a boyfriend before you're out of college," she was saying to my mom, "you'll be doomed to be single for the rest of your life."
"It can't be that bad," my mom said.
"Yes, it is, for the girls it is. In Canada, anyway. Everywhere you go, you see single ladies. Even the ugly guys get snatched up like candy."
I would not have described him as candy. Sunshine, maybe. Not candy. Candy was for other things, things boys had no right to.
Sunshine and skies and marbles and metal posts and oh, yes, the Small Things, they were his. Things I would not—could not let go, because everything else I had to.
. . .
The green I knew well. Too well. It was bitter. I hated it because it was bitter.
Almost as much as I hated pain, as much as I hated raw tomatoes without sugar because they were so unforgivingly sour despite their intentions.
"You're going to Harvard, aren't you?" The man my mom knew as well asked me. I imagined it in a Boston drawl, although he did not know Bostonians had a separate accent. As far as he was concerned, there were only two accents of English. Proper English, and improper English. Foreigner English.
Harvard was a sharp edge on the borders of my carefully constructed dream world. It was too real, too out of reach to be real. It was what everyone wanted but me. Or was it?
I hated pain, hated sourness and bitterness, because they were sharp, cutting, unforgiving of anything soft and surreal. By definition, I should have hated Harvard too. I couldn't.
It is far from love, though.
. . .
University of Toronto, however, is not love, but close. I would not have said it without buildings like those of Trinity, but there are so many of them that I can only, in my analogies, describe it as lust.
I had Brent as an excuse for McGill, and buildings and grounds and pure beauty as excuses for the others. They were not the "legitimate" reasons, no. What about their research facilities? What about their teachers? What about their policies? What about their affordability?
The "proper" reasons. They were the ones that did not matter, it seemed.
University of Toronto was, for my purposes, anyway, just as good as Harvard. As one of the best schools (for the most part) in Canada, it had everything any other school could offer.
So then came the trivial reasons.
What is the campus like? Is it large? Urban? Can I get intoxicated in its buzzing aura?
How is the reputation?
What will the others say? Those back home?
Small Things. How could I forget?
. . .
We stood under the blaring white lights, fixated on even more flashing lights. The scene was oddly familiar. Like ghosts that came back to haunt old roosts. Like déjà vu, although technically the expression is missing a verb.
Clover is to one side. Sandy and Carren on the other end. We lift up our iPads, waving them furiously around. Plants vs. Zombies. It is nighttime. No more sunflowers. The mushrooms will have to do. How many mines can you plant? What about the big walnuts? Spikes? You can only choose six.
We left to watch Despicable Me (not The Sorcerer's Apprentice, because "those movies you can watch on Tuesdays, for half price"). It had me laughing and crying, hiding my tears in the darkness. The 3D glasses over my own was dizzying, but it was worth it. I should have brought a water bottle.
I thought I heard Tea there, and Bryant, and Tybalt, but not the Egg. I thought about him when I mentioned that Ariadne had an iPad. He was definitely there.
. . .
No, I would rather not have a smoothie, I thought. I hate smoothies. I don't know why.
"I'd like a peach and strawberry smoothie, please," I told the person behind the counter. She scooped the fruit into a cup, added a dollop of yoghurt, and put them in the blender. With apple juice.
I now knew why I hated smoothies. Maybe. I hate apple juice. I only like two fruits anyway. Peaches and strawberries.
I took the smoothie. "And a chocolate ice cream, please? In a cup."
The ice cream was for another friend of my mom's. I just took the smoothie. Peach and strawberry and yoghurt and apple juice.
Not taro.
. . .
The Apple reminds me of Möhre's hair, bright, blood red. We passed by the Apple every time. Commented on it. Said we'd go there.
We did.
They don't sell apples. They sell candied apples, and apple candy, and apple bread, but mostly they sold pies. Apple crumble pies and traditional pies and cherry and blueberry pies. Strawberry pies.
We took the maple apple pie. Maple, laughable. We were leaving and we took the one thing that could tie us back.
I had never tasted a maple apple pie before. It tastes just like any other pie. Better crust, I suppose. The Apple crust.
Red as the bloody mountain sunset red. Möhre's hair.
. . .
She did not hear anything he said, except that he loved her, but not anymore. Rhett loved her. Waited out for her. So afraid of being hurt that he destroyed himself. But it was Scarlett he dealt with. Perhaps he had reason. Ashley was attractive. Well-bred.
Created a suit, and he fit the model.
Ashley and his sunshine hair. His stormy-colored eyes, although he would never be stormy. He was too calm, too well-bred for that.
A suit.
After all, tomorrow was another day. I may not be here anymore, I once said. He was a suit.
Suits have parts. Coats. Lapels. Pants. Shirts. Fake shirts, in Johnny's case. Ties. Maybe a hat.
Big, intangible, but with parts. Small Things. But it ends there.
. . .
I never did call Nora. Later.
. . .
Rover was fine. "What's her name?" I asked. "Lavender," she said, tugging on the leash. "L-A-V-E-N-D-E-R."
I went back to Luke and told him of my findings. We now knew all the names of the dogs.
I wonder what it would be like if I had known Luke in Paperclip. He was in my grade. Home-schooled, though. Would he know me as me? Would he have some sort of preconception? How would I have reacted, seeing someone I knew? Silly me. I might not have known him.
He might not have been with Rover if he went to Paperclip.
Never question Fate, that's what Allison always says. Fate is a grand master. Allison is his queen. It makes Prescott a king. Dark or light? I'm tempted to say light. But he loves the dark queen.
Never tempt Fate. That's another thing Allison would say.
. . .
"I don't really talk to the old people anymore," Nora told me over the phone.
I nodded, but she couldn't see anyway. I knew who she was talking about. JJ and Clover, and maybe even Stella, although she and Stella were never really close anyway. My most vivid memory of them was the time they fought over who I should follow. I went with Stella that time, and Nora had been mad at me for weeks.
"I've got my boyfriend," she went on to say. "That's all I need now."
Clover told me later that Nora was a "changed girl." I mentioned the boyfriend. Clover had scoffed and asked, "Which one?"
"It's more than I can say," I said. Nora had changed, but so had Clover. So had the city.
But that was later. Right then, all I said was, "I'll call you later, Nora. When I get the time."
Which I never did, rather unfortunately.
But that was all later.
. . .
I did not know her, although my mom did, and that was all that mattered these days. She swirled her coffee-flavoured bubbled tea, just as I sipped on my taro one, and for a moment I could not imagine why anyone would drink anything other than taro-flavoured bubble tea. That it was an acquired taste, even for me.
The small things. The God of Small Things.
"If you don't find a boyfriend before you're out of college," she was saying to my mom, "you'll be doomed to be single for the rest of your life."
"It can't be that bad," my mom said.
"Yes, it is, for the girls it is. In Canada, anyway. Everywhere you go, you see single ladies. Even the ugly guys get snatched up like candy."
I would not have described him as candy. Sunshine, maybe. Not candy. Candy was for other things, things boys had no right to.
Sunshine and skies and marbles and metal posts and oh, yes, the Small Things, they were his. Things I would not—could not let go, because everything else I had to.
. . .
The green I knew well. Too well. It was bitter. I hated it because it was bitter.
Almost as much as I hated pain, as much as I hated raw tomatoes without sugar because they were so unforgivingly sour despite their intentions.
"You're going to Harvard, aren't you?" The man my mom knew as well asked me. I imagined it in a Boston drawl, although he did not know Bostonians had a separate accent. As far as he was concerned, there were only two accents of English. Proper English, and improper English. Foreigner English.
Harvard was a sharp edge on the borders of my carefully constructed dream world. It was too real, too out of reach to be real. It was what everyone wanted but me. Or was it?
I hated pain, hated sourness and bitterness, because they were sharp, cutting, unforgiving of anything soft and surreal. By definition, I should have hated Harvard too. I couldn't.
It is far from love, though.
. . .
University of Toronto, however, is not love, but close. I would not have said it without buildings like those of Trinity, but there are so many of them that I can only, in my analogies, describe it as lust.
I had Brent as an excuse for McGill, and buildings and grounds and pure beauty as excuses for the others. They were not the "legitimate" reasons, no. What about their research facilities? What about their teachers? What about their policies? What about their affordability?
The "proper" reasons. They were the ones that did not matter, it seemed.
University of Toronto was, for my purposes, anyway, just as good as Harvard. As one of the best schools (for the most part) in Canada, it had everything any other school could offer.
So then came the trivial reasons.
What is the campus like? Is it large? Urban? Can I get intoxicated in its buzzing aura?
How is the reputation?
What will the others say? Those back home?
Small Things. How could I forget?
. . .
We stood under the blaring white lights, fixated on even more flashing lights. The scene was oddly familiar. Like ghosts that came back to haunt old roosts. Like déjà vu, although technically the expression is missing a verb.
Clover is to one side. Sandy and Carren on the other end. We lift up our iPads, waving them furiously around. Plants vs. Zombies. It is nighttime. No more sunflowers. The mushrooms will have to do. How many mines can you plant? What about the big walnuts? Spikes? You can only choose six.
We left to watch Despicable Me (not The Sorcerer's Apprentice, because "those movies you can watch on Tuesdays, for half price"). It had me laughing and crying, hiding my tears in the darkness. The 3D glasses over my own was dizzying, but it was worth it. I should have brought a water bottle.
I thought I heard Tea there, and Bryant, and Tybalt, but not the Egg. I thought about him when I mentioned that Ariadne had an iPad. He was definitely there.
. . .
No, I would rather not have a smoothie, I thought. I hate smoothies. I don't know why.
"I'd like a peach and strawberry smoothie, please," I told the person behind the counter. She scooped the fruit into a cup, added a dollop of yoghurt, and put them in the blender. With apple juice.
I now knew why I hated smoothies. Maybe. I hate apple juice. I only like two fruits anyway. Peaches and strawberries.
I took the smoothie. "And a chocolate ice cream, please? In a cup."
The ice cream was for another friend of my mom's. I just took the smoothie. Peach and strawberry and yoghurt and apple juice.
Not taro.
. . .
The Apple reminds me of Möhre's hair, bright, blood red. We passed by the Apple every time. Commented on it. Said we'd go there.
We did.
They don't sell apples. They sell candied apples, and apple candy, and apple bread, but mostly they sold pies. Apple crumble pies and traditional pies and cherry and blueberry pies. Strawberry pies.
We took the maple apple pie. Maple, laughable. We were leaving and we took the one thing that could tie us back.
I had never tasted a maple apple pie before. It tastes just like any other pie. Better crust, I suppose. The Apple crust.
Red as the bloody mountain sunset red. Möhre's hair.
. . .
She did not hear anything he said, except that he loved her, but not anymore. Rhett loved her. Waited out for her. So afraid of being hurt that he destroyed himself. But it was Scarlett he dealt with. Perhaps he had reason. Ashley was attractive. Well-bred.
Created a suit, and he fit the model.
Ashley and his sunshine hair. His stormy-colored eyes, although he would never be stormy. He was too calm, too well-bred for that.
A suit.
After all, tomorrow was another day. I may not be here anymore, I once said. He was a suit.
Suits have parts. Coats. Lapels. Pants. Shirts. Fake shirts, in Johnny's case. Ties. Maybe a hat.
Big, intangible, but with parts. Small Things. But it ends there.
. . .
I never did call Nora. Later.
. . .
Rover was fine. "What's her name?" I asked. "Lavender," she said, tugging on the leash. "L-A-V-E-N-D-E-R."
I went back to Luke and told him of my findings. We now knew all the names of the dogs.
I wonder what it would be like if I had known Luke in Paperclip. He was in my grade. Home-schooled, though. Would he know me as me? Would he have some sort of preconception? How would I have reacted, seeing someone I knew? Silly me. I might not have known him.
He might not have been with Rover if he went to Paperclip.
Never question Fate, that's what Allison always says. Fate is a grand master. Allison is his queen. It makes Prescott a king. Dark or light? I'm tempted to say light. But he loves the dark queen.
Never tempt Fate. That's another thing Allison would say.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Hey, you! Yes, you.
A while ago (back in April) I wrote a post promoting equality amongst my equivalent of Gretchie's "imaginary friends." I had twenty people, because that was the most number of labels I could include, and since it's pointless if I mention someone but doesn't include their label, I just chose twenty people.
Today's lucky people are:
But before all of this, I would like to say that I have started reading the DMV booklet for my permit test, and it's so far going well. I don't know what kind of test they have though, so we'll have to see. And besides, I suck at memorization.
Also... why, why do they use clock hands for steering wheel positions, instead of diagrams? I like my digital clock just as much as the next person, and the only time I use analog clocks are when I'm trying to figure out how much time I have left in a class, and it's become second-nature to me that I don't even know the hours, just the minutes.
Anyway. Let's commence!
Amanda-Amanda's sent out a FB message to me (along with various other people) asking me if I wanted to join her on a NYC trip sometime in the summer. I do, but I have to okay it first with my parents, so I'm holding on responding just for now.
Camel-I don't think I'll ever have another class with Camel. He's being boring and taking Physics B and Calc AB, and somehow I don't think he's going to take AP Lit or any of my other classes. Doesn't sound like him. We don't really talk outside of communicating with Nyx, so I guess we won't really talk ever again.
Dora-Right! Movies, possibly. I still have to get back to her on that as well. So many things happening this summer! I'm glad that summer's finally here. There's definitely less stress right now, which is good, but I think I'm going to be looking forward for school to start, surprisingly.
Gretchen-Can you believe she's behind Irving, of all people, in my tag-list? I can't. Well, I suppose it's because of all the math team things where I mention Irving because he's usually doing something outrageous (but usually less so to some extent) with Mario. Anyway, Gretchen and I need to land in Japan soon. I'm getting a little air-sick right now.
Irving-Mentioned above, and that I probably won't ever see him again, unless I get into Hahvahd (unlikely) or get into MIT (also unlikely) and he happens to bike by because I can't bike by him since I don't know how to bike.
Joss-He still has spiky hair, even though he cut it shorter earlier. I don't know what else to say of him. Not very exciting right now.
Mario-Oh, Mario. What to say of him? I think he's going to have superiority issues next year in math team. To think that he said of Irving's behavior during Moody's, "I think he had trouble realizing who was the real boss. Next year there won't be a question as to who's in charge." No doubt. It's not him.
Matt-Super skinniness aside, he's leaving as well! I somehow cannot process that, even though I could process Irving and Owen and Melissa leaving. I guess it's because he wasn't away on the senior internships, so I haven't really felt him leave. I'm really going to miss him, even if he doesn't talk much.
Melissa-Ambivalent on her leaving. I think things are going to be a lot quieter without her, which is both good and bad. We won't have her cookies anymore as well, so that could be bad.
Micro-I'm trying to communicate to him in sign language, but neither he nor Sonny understands it, so Yuma and I are having a particularly difficult time.
Mogley-Didn't know he was taking Econ next year. Maybe we'll be in the same class again. He had English scheduling problems earlier, and I told him, "Just get AP English," to which he said, "No way, me?" Our English teacher agreed with his sentiment, and not just because of his horrible grammar (I still can't forgive him for writing lists without commas).
Nyx-Has a super early arena time but has no need for it because of her singletons. I'm slightly envious, but then I remember that no matter who I have they're either not bad or they're unavoidable, so I don't care that much either. And I'll probably have physics with Tea (unless it runs out) so it doesn't concern me very, very much.
Owen-Writing about Owen here reminds me of his alpaca. Also my "choose your own adventure" story. Otherwise he doesn't remind me of anything except that I don't know who's going to keep Dino well-oiled in the next year. We might see an increase in system crashes then.
Reese-I'm talking to Reese on Gchat a lot now. He's using Digsby, which is apparently similar to the device that Tea uses except for PCs. I shall have to try that out soon.
Sonny-He's hilarious, even if he doesn't mean it. He also can't understand sign language or exaggerated waving. Also, I found out how freaky he looked while sunbathing with Scott and the like. A row of guys lying down on the ground in the courtyard just looks weird.
Stella-I don't talk to her nearly as much now. I should. In fact, I will talk to her today as soon as I get this Digsby thing working.
Tamir-Why did I even first mention him? Why do I keep on mentioning him? I don't know. Whatever.
Tybalt-From what I've heard from Kathrya lately, he's exceedingly sweet. This disproves my best friend from back before's theory that all guys are jerks. But then again, I knew that a long time ago. Besides, it doesn't disprove the theory that some guys (ambiguity on how many) are jerks.
Vincent-I need to go over to his house more often if it means more Clue time. I'm addicted to the game. It's unhealthy, I think, both physically and emotionally.
Yuma-I never knew he was so good at go, but then again, Yuma is amazing at a lot of things. We definitely need him on our Moody's team next year. Also, Mrs. MacDonald said that she was looking forward to seeing me (and presumably everyone on our team) next year for Moody's. I think that basically guarantees that, if we don't do something stupid and smoke pot in front of the principal or something like that, we're going to be on a team (if not on a team together) next year.
Whew. Now let's see if anything on my "Noteworthy" list looks better now.
Today's lucky people are:
- Amanda
- Camel
- Dora
- Gretchen
- Irving
- Joss
- Mario
- Matt
- Melissa
- Micro
- Mogley
- Nyx
- Owen
- Reese
- Sonny
- Stella
- Tamir
- Tybalt
- Vincent
- Yuma
But before all of this, I would like to say that I have started reading the DMV booklet for my permit test, and it's so far going well. I don't know what kind of test they have though, so we'll have to see. And besides, I suck at memorization.
Also... why, why do they use clock hands for steering wheel positions, instead of diagrams? I like my digital clock just as much as the next person, and the only time I use analog clocks are when I'm trying to figure out how much time I have left in a class, and it's become second-nature to me that I don't even know the hours, just the minutes.
Anyway. Let's commence!
Amanda-Amanda's sent out a FB message to me (along with various other people) asking me if I wanted to join her on a NYC trip sometime in the summer. I do, but I have to okay it first with my parents, so I'm holding on responding just for now.
Camel-I don't think I'll ever have another class with Camel. He's being boring and taking Physics B and Calc AB, and somehow I don't think he's going to take AP Lit or any of my other classes. Doesn't sound like him. We don't really talk outside of communicating with Nyx, so I guess we won't really talk ever again.
Dora-Right! Movies, possibly. I still have to get back to her on that as well. So many things happening this summer! I'm glad that summer's finally here. There's definitely less stress right now, which is good, but I think I'm going to be looking forward for school to start, surprisingly.
Gretchen-Can you believe she's behind Irving, of all people, in my tag-list? I can't. Well, I suppose it's because of all the math team things where I mention Irving because he's usually doing something outrageous (but usually less so to some extent) with Mario. Anyway, Gretchen and I need to land in Japan soon. I'm getting a little air-sick right now.
Irving-Mentioned above, and that I probably won't ever see him again, unless I get into Hahvahd (unlikely) or get into MIT (also unlikely) and he happens to bike by because I can't bike by him since I don't know how to bike.
Joss-He still has spiky hair, even though he cut it shorter earlier. I don't know what else to say of him. Not very exciting right now.
Mario-Oh, Mario. What to say of him? I think he's going to have superiority issues next year in math team. To think that he said of Irving's behavior during Moody's, "I think he had trouble realizing who was the real boss. Next year there won't be a question as to who's in charge." No doubt. It's not him.
Matt-Super skinniness aside, he's leaving as well! I somehow cannot process that, even though I could process Irving and Owen and Melissa leaving. I guess it's because he wasn't away on the senior internships, so I haven't really felt him leave. I'm really going to miss him, even if he doesn't talk much.
Melissa-Ambivalent on her leaving. I think things are going to be a lot quieter without her, which is both good and bad. We won't have her cookies anymore as well, so that could be bad.
Micro-I'm trying to communicate to him in sign language, but neither he nor Sonny understands it, so Yuma and I are having a particularly difficult time.
Mogley-Didn't know he was taking Econ next year. Maybe we'll be in the same class again. He had English scheduling problems earlier, and I told him, "Just get AP English," to which he said, "No way, me?" Our English teacher agreed with his sentiment, and not just because of his horrible grammar (I still can't forgive him for writing lists without commas).
Nyx-Has a super early arena time but has no need for it because of her singletons. I'm slightly envious, but then I remember that no matter who I have they're either not bad or they're unavoidable, so I don't care that much either. And I'll probably have physics with Tea (unless it runs out) so it doesn't concern me very, very much.
Owen-Writing about Owen here reminds me of his alpaca. Also my "choose your own adventure" story. Otherwise he doesn't remind me of anything except that I don't know who's going to keep Dino well-oiled in the next year. We might see an increase in system crashes then.
Reese-I'm talking to Reese on Gchat a lot now. He's using Digsby, which is apparently similar to the device that Tea uses except for PCs. I shall have to try that out soon.
Sonny-He's hilarious, even if he doesn't mean it. He also can't understand sign language or exaggerated waving. Also, I found out how freaky he looked while sunbathing with Scott and the like. A row of guys lying down on the ground in the courtyard just looks weird.
Stella-I don't talk to her nearly as much now. I should. In fact, I will talk to her today as soon as I get this Digsby thing working.
Tamir-Why did I even first mention him? Why do I keep on mentioning him? I don't know. Whatever.
Tybalt-From what I've heard from Kathrya lately, he's exceedingly sweet. This disproves my best friend from back before's theory that all guys are jerks. But then again, I knew that a long time ago. Besides, it doesn't disprove the theory that some guys (ambiguity on how many) are jerks.
Vincent-I need to go over to his house more often if it means more Clue time. I'm addicted to the game. It's unhealthy, I think, both physically and emotionally.
Yuma-I never knew he was so good at go, but then again, Yuma is amazing at a lot of things. We definitely need him on our Moody's team next year. Also, Mrs. MacDonald said that she was looking forward to seeing me (and presumably everyone on our team) next year for Moody's. I think that basically guarantees that, if we don't do something stupid and smoke pot in front of the principal or something like that, we're going to be on a team (if not on a team together) next year.
Whew. Now let's see if anything on my "Noteworthy" list looks better now.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Spring Cleaning
Well, my parents don't believe in spring cleaning, so I didn't have to physically clean out anything (we did wash the car today though). However, I decided to clean out my inbox, because lately Daily Writing Tips, College Board, Dictionary.com, Braingle, and Assorted Other Colleges have decided to spam me (more like, I signed up for their newsletters and whatnot and didn't realize the consequences of my actions). Since I had well over a thousand unread messages, and plenty more that I had already read, I created a few more labels and started sorting and archiving my mail.
With a good two or three hours spent, I've finally organized everything. Right now, my inbox status stands as follows (for anyone who's not interested, I don't have much else to say today, so you can basically skip this post):
(Also note, I have my email set in French, but I got lazy translation-wise and so all labels are in English.)
Boîte de réception: 9
Consists of odd items such as the email from Paperclip's resident dietician asking me to send her the completed version of my research paper, SHP applications that I have long abandoned (because my dad thinks it's not worthwhile, whatever that means), an email from Zephy saying I owe her $1.25 for the town bus fare, and several emails from QuestBridge, but I'm not sure what they are or what they want me to do (something I shall have to check out later).
Braingle: 390
My "Quiz of the Day" and "Teaser of the Day" supplier. I have 147 of those that I haven't read, which is strange, because they come in pairs and I read them in pairs, but perhaps I skipped a quiz one day because half of them are movie quizzes and I have a very limited movie knowledge database.
Cappex.com: 61
Registered an account there about the same time I registered an account for College Confidential, which reminds me, I haven't visited either lately. But CC is very depressing (especially all those amazing Ivy-wannabes who keep asking, "Am I going to get in???"—I would be surprised if you didn't get in), and I don't quite remember why I checked out Cappex in the first place.
CBoard: 251
"College Board" was too long to fit in one line without those annoying ellipsis (which, according to TheSage, can also be spelled "eclipsis"), so I dubbed it "CBoard" instead. Anyway, since I have around 195 of them I haven't read yet, that basically means I haven't been doing any of those "The Official SAT Question of the Day" for more than half a year now.
Clubs/Competitions/Confirmation: 139
Three separate labels, but each not significant enough to have its own block of text. This is where all those bike/chess club notices (including Livny's chess mafia email), Moody's half-completed papers, and subscription/sign-up confirmation emails reside.
College Promo: 649
The main reason why I was cleaning out my email in the first place (because everything else I can just filter out by sender and automatically apply labels). Twenty three of them come from University of New Haven, which I am definitely not applying to because it would be a waste of effort for both of us. The rest come from an assortment of colleges, including nine from WPI, several from this Monica person from Hamilton College, and plenty more that I have definitely seen duplicates of. Also, the more I ignore them, the more they send me emails (as evidenced by the few colleges I responded to have not sent me any emails ever since).
DWT: 214
Daily Writing Tips is amazing in many ways. I subscribed to their "newsletter" to learn new grammar rules and such, but they have so much more than that. For example, Friday's email included twenty book titles that were inspired by Shakespeare's plays (including the lines they came from) and the second installment of their poetry contest.
Facebook: 667
If any label could beat "College Promo" by now, it would be Facebook. I just remembered (right now) that I had set all Facebook messages to auto-archive, which is why I haven't seen anything whenever people write on my wall or send me messages as of late.
Fiction: 12
My Fanfiction.net and Wordpress.com account emails. I haven't posted anything on there, so this label has been much neglected.
Friends: 110
As the label says, all those emails from my friends that don't belong anywhere else. Half of them are 100+ replies between Stella and me. Half of those emails consist of links that Stella was trying to make me visit (mostly audio/video files) and me responding that I don't have any headphones on hand.
Misc: 20
All the weird stuff that I was too lazy to make an individual label for. Most of Google's emails/alerts/reminders somehow mysteriously (or not) ended up here. I've also got a few emails from Photobucket (which is a word, but spellcheck is not).
School: 68
All those SnapGrades messages in Turkish that Mr. Coffee sent everyone in his classes are here. Last-minute emails I sent myself with homework attachments are also here, and I've got an email or two from Mrs. Tallchief regarding my research paper. Oh, the nightmares. At least that's over now.
Word of the Day: 273
I thought I would expand my vocab by reading and memorizing one word each day. Seeing as I have 170 of those I haven't opened yet, you can see how well that plan went. I do remember learning "misanthrope" from an old WofD email, and emollient (which reminded me of Molly Weasley), and aquiline (a word that later showed up as a vocab word in my sophomore English class).
I feel so accomplished. Well, I also did a practice test for calc, and got a 70% on the multiple choice and 90% on free-response (I can't believe I got the Taylor series one), so I'm hoping for a five on the test. (It's also sad that I can get most of the AB questions right but BC is just that much harder, mostly because there's much less time.)
With a good two or three hours spent, I've finally organized everything. Right now, my inbox status stands as follows (for anyone who's not interested, I don't have much else to say today, so you can basically skip this post):
(Also note, I have my email set in French, but I got lazy translation-wise and so all labels are in English.)
Boîte de réception: 9
Consists of odd items such as the email from Paperclip's resident dietician asking me to send her the completed version of my research paper, SHP applications that I have long abandoned (because my dad thinks it's not worthwhile, whatever that means), an email from Zephy saying I owe her $1.25 for the town bus fare, and several emails from QuestBridge, but I'm not sure what they are or what they want me to do (something I shall have to check out later).
Braingle: 390
My "Quiz of the Day" and "Teaser of the Day" supplier. I have 147 of those that I haven't read, which is strange, because they come in pairs and I read them in pairs, but perhaps I skipped a quiz one day because half of them are movie quizzes and I have a very limited movie knowledge database.
Cappex.com: 61
Registered an account there about the same time I registered an account for College Confidential, which reminds me, I haven't visited either lately. But CC is very depressing (especially all those amazing Ivy-wannabes who keep asking, "Am I going to get in???"—I would be surprised if you didn't get in), and I don't quite remember why I checked out Cappex in the first place.
CBoard: 251
"College Board" was too long to fit in one line without those annoying ellipsis (which, according to TheSage, can also be spelled "eclipsis"), so I dubbed it "CBoard" instead. Anyway, since I have around 195 of them I haven't read yet, that basically means I haven't been doing any of those "The Official SAT Question of the Day" for more than half a year now.
Clubs/Competitions/Confirmation: 139
Three separate labels, but each not significant enough to have its own block of text. This is where all those bike/chess club notices (including Livny's chess mafia email), Moody's half-completed papers, and subscription/sign-up confirmation emails reside.
College Promo: 649
The main reason why I was cleaning out my email in the first place (because everything else I can just filter out by sender and automatically apply labels). Twenty three of them come from University of New Haven, which I am definitely not applying to because it would be a waste of effort for both of us. The rest come from an assortment of colleges, including nine from WPI, several from this Monica person from Hamilton College, and plenty more that I have definitely seen duplicates of. Also, the more I ignore them, the more they send me emails (as evidenced by the few colleges I responded to have not sent me any emails ever since).
DWT: 214
Daily Writing Tips is amazing in many ways. I subscribed to their "newsletter" to learn new grammar rules and such, but they have so much more than that. For example, Friday's email included twenty book titles that were inspired by Shakespeare's plays (including the lines they came from) and the second installment of their poetry contest.
Facebook: 667
If any label could beat "College Promo" by now, it would be Facebook. I just remembered (right now) that I had set all Facebook messages to auto-archive, which is why I haven't seen anything whenever people write on my wall or send me messages as of late.
Fiction: 12
My Fanfiction.net and Wordpress.com account emails. I haven't posted anything on there, so this label has been much neglected.
Friends: 110
As the label says, all those emails from my friends that don't belong anywhere else. Half of them are 100+ replies between Stella and me. Half of those emails consist of links that Stella was trying to make me visit (mostly audio/video files) and me responding that I don't have any headphones on hand.
Misc: 20
All the weird stuff that I was too lazy to make an individual label for. Most of Google's emails/alerts/reminders somehow mysteriously (or not) ended up here. I've also got a few emails from Photobucket (which is a word, but spellcheck is not).
School: 68
All those SnapGrades messages in Turkish that Mr. Coffee sent everyone in his classes are here. Last-minute emails I sent myself with homework attachments are also here, and I've got an email or two from Mrs. Tallchief regarding my research paper. Oh, the nightmares. At least that's over now.
Word of the Day: 273
I thought I would expand my vocab by reading and memorizing one word each day. Seeing as I have 170 of those I haven't opened yet, you can see how well that plan went. I do remember learning "misanthrope" from an old WofD email, and emollient (which reminded me of Molly Weasley), and aquiline (a word that later showed up as a vocab word in my sophomore English class).
I feel so accomplished. Well, I also did a practice test for calc, and got a 70% on the multiple choice and 90% on free-response (I can't believe I got the Taylor series one), so I'm hoping for a five on the test. (It's also sad that I can get most of the AB questions right but BC is just that much harder, mostly because there's much less time.)
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.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Some Other Stuff I Found In My Drafts
By "drafts," I mean my Gmail draft folder. I used to type all of my stories there, before I hooked up to Google Docs. That was quite a transformation.
Anyway, I figured I might as well share these, since I'll be focusing on writing about the trip to Chile and may be distracted for a very long time.
Title: Tell Me What I Don't Know
I was such a moody girl when I wrote that one. I do like the math windows though. They're so big, and they're a wonderful excuse for Trevor to distract the class with. (One time, he opened the windows really, really wide, and he couldn't close them again. Mrs. MacDonald later went over and closed it rather easily.)
Title: If It's Really The End
One of the few times I wrote poetry. I am horrible at rhyming, so I go for word patterns and symbols and references instead. Nonetheless, I believe I write better stories than I do poetry, mostly because I have never even figured out what goes into poems besides emotions.
Title: SOS-Cheese Promo Article
Ooh, a fun piece I wrote while I was bored during the summer. I've been trying to get Stella to create SOS-Cheese ever since I wrote this article. I haven't succeeded yet.
Title: Imaginary Festival Promo Article
My first fictional promo piece. You can obviously tell that this one came first because it outright mentions being imaginary. Oh, and, try saying some of the proper nouns out loud.
Anyway, I figured I might as well share these, since I'll be focusing on writing about the trip to Chile and may be distracted for a very long time.
Title: Tell Me What I Don't Know
Let it go.If it was meant to be yours, then it will come back.If it doesn't, then it wasn't meant to be.
I've gone on and on and on,beyond everything I've known,went past the bordersof everything I'd seen,and now I'm on the edgeof the world I've grown to know,and I'm looking down,looking down.I'm holding onto my dreams,grasping onto them,just like you told me so;I'm afraid that once I let go,they'll disappear on me,cause they're not really mine.I'm holding onto my identity,refusing to release my hands,and set it free,I know that if I give in,I'll never see it again,cause this isn't the real me.(this isn't the real me)
I'm looking down,there's something holding me back,there's a reason whyI'm not jumping yet.I want to let it go,to have nothing to worry anymore,to free-fall,to never have to think again.
But there's something holding me back,something rooting me to the ground,something I haven't done yet,something I'm afraid to lose.
I want to escape this world,run away as far as I can,but what's on the other side?What will I see?I want to run away, run away,jump off,and fly highaway from everything I've known,everything I've kept dear,no more strings to hold me back,no more memories of the past,just me and myself,alone where I want to be.
I want to love him.I know he doesn't love me. It's in the way he talks, the nonchalant way he looks at me, the way we don't talk without someone else there, or something else there. The way I can't say hi to him in the hall, and he doesn't care. The way he comments about me, always something I can't do or I'm not, something I've managed to do wrong. The way he doesn't notice, how he didn't know my name even, for so long.But I want to believe. I want to believe that, when he talks about the pencil I've lost and found again, that he's remembered and that he cares. I want to believe that he actually makes eye contact when we pass by each other. I want to believe that he's only mean because he's trying to get my attention.I know there are other explanations for those small things that makes me want to think that he loves me. There always are. And there's no way he could ever possibly love me.I know I can't love him, either. Not because he doesn't love me, although that might help my argument. It's because I'm in love with someone else. I'm in love with something else.I never did get over Dray. What he represented, really. I had always been, and still am, in love with the notion of love itself. So when my heart beats faster when I see him, or when I ogle at his hair and his composure, it's because I want to be in love so badly, because I want to love, because I'm afraid of not loving, of losing this one thing that makes my dreams the fantastical worlds they are and gives me hope to live on every day.I'm afraid. So I'm grasping at the little ends that could possibly sustain me.Even if he did love me, and I know he doesn't, it wouldn't be fair to love him.And I can't cave in, so I'm using other people to fill in the gap, and it's unfair to everyone. But I don't know what else to do. I'm glad I've never seen him smile, because if I do, I might just lose control over my emotions.
I hate these windows.
I hate their taunting ways, as if they're beckoning out to me, calling for my attention. It's as if they're screaming, "Come, come out, can't you see what we're offering beyond? The freedom, the exhilaration, everything. If you can make it through, then all of this is yours." I stare out them, and I want to break through, so desperately. I want to jump out and free fall and not have to be in control anymore. I want to let go and watch everything spiral out of my hands, and know that, for once, it doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't matter who I am or what I can do, because everything is out of my control now, and I can finally, finally relax for once.
Of course, they won't let me. The windows. They tease me with freedom so close within grasp, but when I come up close to them, and put my palms against their cold glass panes, that freedom escapes my reach. I can't really break free; the windows are made to withstand my whims, and the small opening that they do offer provides only a coward's way out. They're holding me back, these windows, holding me back so that even though I'm so close to going down, I can't, not yet.
I hate these windows because they remind me of myself.
They remind me of the time when I would stare longingly at the fourteenth floor of my friend's apartment, and I would think to myself, "It's not that hard. Just wait until the school organizes that annual chocolate fund-raiser again, and then take a box of chocolate and a knife with you to the top floor. There's bound to be someone who wants to buy chocolate, and when they open the door for you, that's your chance. Force yourself inside. Run to the balcony, unlocking any doors with the knife if necessary, and climb onto the railing.
"Then jump. Jump as far as you can, away from the cement balcony, away from the grating bricks, away from the screaming people. Just as far as you can, head first, pummeling down with the wind in your ears, until everything turns black."
But the school fund-raiser came and went, and I'm still here, breathing, surviving, even if I hadn't been alive for so long. At the last moment, when everything was set out perfectly and all that was left was to sum up my courage, I couldn't do it. Something was holding me back, rooting me to the ground despite my pleas to fly.
I hate these windows because they remind me of my hesitance.
They remind me of the time when I would sit around a table, and everyone around me would talk and I would listen. They talked about anything and everything. They talked about misadventures in second grade, they talked about sleepovers and parties, they talked about teachers they shared and camps they went to together and trips they went on.
I would listen, as always. I wouldn't say anything, but I would listen. I would listen and take in every word, and imagine myself in all of those wonderful places, sharing all of those mystical memories. I would listen silently, so silently, in fact, that when the people around me get up and leave, they never notice my eavesdropping. They never realize that I was sharing a part in their world, a shadowy part without real substance, but a part nonetheless.
I want to be a part of someone else's memory, not just my own. But hearing of other people's memories, memories I would never have, is the next best thing, and I can't take anything for granted.
I hate these windows because they remind me of my transparency.
I hate these windows because they remind me of what I am about to do.
I wanted to take you to the window where I took off, but I think that wouldn't be possible. The police would be here, and they would cordon off that place and refuse to let anyone in. That's why I chose my math classroom. Of course, it's partially because the math classrooms are on the top floor, but it's also because I know they will not let anyone here for a long time. Math is the only class I share with you, and I thought you might want to escape my presence for a while, if only to clear your head and forget my pain better.
So, instead of that window, I chose this one instead. It's similar in layout, but you must have noticed that by now. I asked you to come here so I can show you how I felt when I put my hands on the glass and felt the warmth radiate away from my fingertips. It's a despairing action, knowing the last bit of familiarity and comfort is leaving you, forever, but it's also thrilling to know that you're going to begin an entire new journey.
This is the journey I have been waiting for, for my entire life, and I finally have the chance to realize it. No more conforming to other people's ideals. No more blending into the background. No more hoping only to lose hope again.
No more silence. No more ignorance. No more fear.
I still hate these windows, but now I'm ready shatter them.
I was such a moody girl when I wrote that one. I do like the math windows though. They're so big, and they're a wonderful excuse for Trevor to distract the class with. (One time, he opened the windows really, really wide, and he couldn't close them again. Mrs. MacDonald later went over and closed it rather easily.)
Title: If It's Really The End
The parchment is bound in leather;it's supposed to be that way.Black ink with hints of red and blue,because it's supposed to be that way.That's the way it had always been,for every aspiring hero and dreaming heroine,the way it had been for thousands of years,eons upon eons,until we lost meaning of the rituals,and kept only the motions.So the parchment is bound in leather,written upon with black ink,and thus we begin a story,that has been told before.
Close your eyes, pretend for a moment;
see the seas where the sirens are?Cover your ears and find their songs,they sing only when you cannot hear.The boats are a-rocking,the bows are a-tipping,place your feet on the deck,let us begin:a journey begun is a journey half-done.The sea-winds are a-blowing,through our hair and past our ears,drowning out the sirens' songs,bringing out the salt-fresh air,harsh against our faces,just so, just so,just enough to remind us of our fears,but not enough to guide us to our pasts.
Night comes, as nights are,stealthy, silent, shivering,with a hint of moonlight to guide us on,glimmering as the sea may seem.It is but a guise,do not let your guard down,for what poses as tranquility is only a mask.Underneath the blanket of bedtime blue,our enemies creep through unseen cracks;
they wait, they stay,they grasp at the ends of your nightmares.So stay awake and keep on guard,only daybreak can chase away their courage,and that is still far away, too far away.
Fish-belly white, that's what they say,
when the larks are singing their paean for the day.It's fish-belly white now,yet the larks are not singing;do they know that we are here?The shouts are already beginning,the chaos already pulsating,the horizon filled with an eerie silver,glinting under the light.Fish-belly white, that's what they say,when the larks wake up from their dreams.It's fish-belly white now,yet the larks are not singing;they will not sing anymore.
The trumpets are sounding,golden against the sun,the velvet red draping over what's left.The crowds are gathering,chanting with fervor,
as our boat glides back silent and deft.Take off your helmet,hear their praise;the sirens are singing,the sirens the crowds,as they taunt with their sea-salt voice,drowned out by the sea-winds:fresh enough to clear our heads,but not enough to turn us back.
The parchment is bound in leather,written upon with black-red ink.
Words do not lie,at least not to our hearts,and so we call them stories:for they cannot be real in this world,not at once, not at all;mere figments of our imagination,repetitive motions without meaning,just the way it has always been,for those aspiring heroes and dreaming heroines,for those hoping and those acting.For the story had been told before,so it cannot be real anymore.
One of the few times I wrote poetry. I am horrible at rhyming, so I go for word patterns and symbols and references instead. Nonetheless, I believe I write better stories than I do poetry, mostly because I have never even figured out what goes into poems besides emotions.
Title: SOS-Cheese Promo Article
If you're like me, you tend to camp out beside your computer. A lot.
In this technology-wired era, who hasn't used--or at least heard of--a computer? These days, the Internet is the norm, and anything not "connected" is outdated. But even the Information Age can't escape capitalism's opportunistic eyes, and despite the great gush of free materials becoming available every day, some things never change.
Like the competition between mega-companies for our money.
If you're like me, you must have heard of a few big names. Google, Microsoft, and Apple, just to name a few. The new gadgets they're pushing out might seem confusing to some--come on, what is the point of having an App on your iPhone that simply makes the screen dark enough you can see your own reflection?--but the competition is fierce.
And boring.
So what if Firefox's new browser offers privacy options so your pesky little sister can't see what sites you go on (especially not the porn sites, I hope)? Google's Chrome minimizes the amount of pixels--virtual blocks of imagination and binary--so your viewing space can be expanded by a line of text. And Internet Explorer just fixed one of its gazillion glitches (we're jumping for joy at this, seriously).
So what if the new iPhone 3GS just came out, and now the battery life's been extended to half a day, instead of three hours (probably what the 3 in 3G stood for in the first place)? The Palm Pre and RIM's Blackberry are chasing its tail, despite their shares on Wall Street lagging behind.
So what if Microsoft came out with Bing, so now, instead of saying "let's Google that", we can (to the dreams of the team at Microsoft) say "let's Bing that." Facebook is hiding its collection of information away from all the search engines, so you could never find what Aunt Jemma's secret ingredient for her chicken pot pies was anyway. (Although it probably isn't a secret anymore, if she wrote on her wall "CH1CK3N P0T P13=US3 Ch1CK3N!!!11!")
All of that is BORING. Come on. You and I both camp out at our computers. We've seen everything new technology has to offer. "Reload" and "refresh" really aren't that different. Neither is having a blue cover instead of a black cover. Unless your entire room was in various shades of blue, I doubt it matters that much. (But if it was, then that's really cool and I applaud your creativity.)
But something's here to change all of that.
The limited edition of SOS-cheese.
You're probably sitting in front of your computer, staring at the monitor, and going, "what?"
SOS--short for Saviour Operating System--isn't some "next-generation" OS promoted by big-shot companies and featuring features that every other OS has (or has something similar) already. It's designed by a group of dedicated people who fused their passion into what they see every day.
By now, you probably have a general idea of what I'm talking about. Yes, this new OS is entirely cheese-themed. Think about that! Instead of something boring like "Calculator" that just reminds you of your own discarded calculator somewhere in your attic, you have a nifty program called "Cheddar". Input an equation into Cheddar, and you'll get the solution, an option to explain how the solution was derived, and exporting options. All in a wonderfully delicious skin. Need to remove that red spot from Granma Sally's eyes so she doesn't look like an albino? Blue Cheese is there to help with expert tools to guide even the most novice photo editor into magazine-style success. Can't figure out where the nearest supermarket is so you can buy groceries (or more cheese)? Go on Selva and search away.
Remember all of those complicated things you wanted to do, and all of those programs you bought or downloaded just so you could do them? Well, some memories are best kept in the past, and this is definitely one of them. With SOS, software of every type and category are already built into the OS, with no extra charge or hidden fees. And if there really is something you couldn't find, there's always the SOSForum where you can search for other users' input or come up with your own add-on. There are a gazillion ways to customize your experience, without that many glitches.
If that still doesn't satisfy your palette, there's always the competitive pricing (and in this recession, that's what everyone really cares about anyway), amazing personalized customer service, and nifty surprises throughout the system that makes your day-to-day computer stalking so much nicer.
Besides, what better way for your stomach to protest when you've been sitting in front of the screen too long than to stare at gourmet cheese?
Ooh, a fun piece I wrote while I was bored during the summer. I've been trying to get Stella to create SOS-Cheese ever since I wrote this article. I haven't succeeded yet.
Title: Imaginary Festival Promo Article
Something's in the air--and it's not just the fact that all the mint my mom plants mysteriously disappears (along with tell-tale dirt next to the pot).
Something much bigger is going on.
It's time for the (now) annual Imaginary Festival. And if you don't know what that means yet, don't fret. There's plenty of time to learn. After all, one of the themes of this year's Imaginary Festival is Procrastination. Good news for those people out there who put off their work until the last minute: you can attend this year's Festival without worrying about not finishing your work (not that you do, do you?). You can work on the putting-off bit at the Festival and come home all prepared to actually start.
And if you're not ready, there's always a chance to bring home some souvenirs.
This year's Festival also offers plenty of other things to do. Come early in the mornings (and by early, we mean some time before 2pm, please--it's not fun to be too late) and see if you're one of the lucky winners to the daily Early Bird Giveaways. Prizes include secret codes to pretty blue colors, pop-up chibi pictures, and the extremely coveted chance to spend a day with the imaginary friend of founder Emma Jinery. According to inside sources, pixelated cookies are also offered, but only on select days. Hmm, I wonder on which days? (Here's a hint: another of this year's Festival theme is 25.)
If you're not an early riser, there are activities you can indulge in as well. If you're an adventure-seeker, you can participate in the Imagining-There's-A-Parachute-Where-There-Is-None-When-You' re-Jumping-Off-A-Plane. You get to imagine your own color and brand of parachute! Imagine that (no pun intended). Unfortunately, the part where you're jumping off the plane isn't imaginary so far, so if you have a weak stomach (or if you don't have an exoskeleton, real or imaginary) I would not recommend this game.
If you would rather participate in the more creative (and much more imaginary) task of telling stories, then you absolutely have to come to the Horror Hedge. Located in a dark, suspicious part of the Festival grounds, right next to the famous hedgeworks, the Horror Hedge is where the truly creative congregate every year (well, starting now, that is) to add their part to the scariest, most bone-chilling horror story of the year. Beware: not all of the identities of the guests to this event are verified, so the Festival makes no guarantee that any details are completely imaginary. They just shun upon using real tidbits.
If you're just looking for a traditional Festival where you and your family and friends can have fun, then there is no better place to look than the Imaginary Festival. Not only do they offer delicious made-up sugar cones (I couldn't stop myself from having two, and had to procrastinate about exercising afterward to shed those imaginary calories), cinnamon-sprinkled air, and delicacies such as the invisible punch, this year, Cam Pletephic is bringing his world-famous Fairies-on-a-Rod. Don't worry, no real fairies were used in making these treats, but they're delectable just the same. (That is, if you can figure out where you should bite, as you can't see them either.)
Other special events at the Festival include Imagining-Your-Dream-Home, Paint-Your-Nails-Groange, nightly dances, and so much more!
If you have not already planned a trip ages ago to some boring place like Meidop Island or Fyk Shunol City, come by the Imaginary Festival before the Procrastination Period is over and this year's Festival officially ends!
Events free-lance writer Ginny
(DISCLAIMER: Neither this publication nor the writer of this article is affiliated with any of the events and activities aforementioned and will not be responsible for any loss, damage or otherwise incident resulting from reading and/or acting upon this article. Copyrights reserved for Ginny. No part of this publication may be reproduced without permission from the author and the original distributor. Please contact your distributor for questions or comments.)
My first fictional promo piece. You can obviously tell that this one came first because it outright mentions being imaginary. Oh, and, try saying some of the proper nouns out loud.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Life Is Strange.
I probably had already concluded this some time prior to today, but I feel there needs to be a reassertion.
Life is strange. Bizarre. Weird. Odd. Completely wacko.
What has made me come to this conclusion (again)? Well, it all started . . .
(-cue person sitting in a wicker chair reminiscing about the past-)
Anyway, this Wednesday, sometime in its glorious sunny afternoon, my mom received a phone call from the Superintendent informing us of the extremely likely possibility of school the next day. The exact words were more along the lines of, yes, there is school tomorrow, but after last weekend, anything could happen.
I was psyched. I wanted to go to school really badly. Staying at home for a prolonged period of time was not my idea of fun.
However, it appears that my body had a different idea.
I spent an entire Thursday, home, sick, stomach hurting and drowsy (although that could be a side-effect of sleeping too much). It was miserable. I went to the doctor's on Friday, received some general information coupled with fancy words, but I was too out of it to comprehend. My mom took me to the pharmacist's to get my new medication, and then we went to Barnes and Noble's somewhere to just "wander around," as I had suggested.
When we came home, it was already late (3pm-ish), so I decided to ask around and see what I had missed.
Lacking phone numbers (not that I use my phone regularly anyway, besides the occasional call to my mom to pick me up), I went online. Bryant was, as I suspected, there, and so I asked him about chem and physics.
"We learned titration curves in chem," he said. "They're not that bad."
Well, for the past most likely every time I've asked him about anything schoolwork related, he has said, "It's not that bad." Not sure how much his words applied to me.
"What about physics?" I asked. "Was there a lab?"
"No, we learned about series and parallel combinations, and how you would go about solving them."
"How do you go about solving them?"
And thus he launched into a very long near-monologue about the complexities of solving circuits, interrupted occasionally by my odd, "Oh, it's like in that video we watched!" or the ever-so-common, "Okay." It got to the point where I decided, no, I wasn't ever going to memorize everything he said, so I went ahead and copied our conversation and pasted it elsewhere for future reference.
Then, Bryant said, "There's a couple questions about circuit breakers on UTexas."
Wait, what?
I hurriedly checked my Quest account, and, there they were, 45 brand new questions sitting there, waiting for me to unravel theirevilness mysteriousness. With a nice message at the top reminding us that the network will be down over the weekend due to maintenance, so we should print out a hard copy to work on it instead.
Before I had a chance to start on those questions, Dora started a conversation with me.
"Hi Ginny! Why weren't you in class today?"
"I was sick," I said. "Did I miss anything?"
"Yeah, we handed in our papers today. Mrs. Tallchief thought you gave your paper to me. She was surprised you weren't there."
Oh. Oops. Right, research paper.
"Don't worry about it," Dora said. "Just send her an email. You should be fine."
Which I did later on, but I haven't received a reply yet, so I'm not sure how that's going. I also have several books I accidentally left in my English classroom, all of which are in danger of disappearing.
I saw Dino as well, so I figured I would ask him about calc. Except, of course, he disappeared right after I attempted to start a conversation. He and Owen both seem to do that a lot.
So I went back to UTexas, fiddled around with the questions, and arrived at a section where there was quite a number of bizarre diagrams that made no sense at all. Frustrated, I checked back to see if anyone else was online to provide useful class information, and I saw Dino again.
"Dino," I said. "You are very elusive. Anyway, what did you guys do in calc today?"
"Where were you?" Or, in Dino-speak, "where werw=e u?" (I find it amusing that he actually noticed his mistake, attempted to hit backspace, missed backspace, and decided to go on regardless.)
"Home," I said. "Sick."
To my surprise, Dino made a frowning face and said, "Feel better."
"Thanks," I said, grasping with this new, nice side of Dino as he reassured me that we didn't go over anything new in calc (yay, because I had thought Mrs. James would go crazy due to our unexpected "break") and told me to let him know if I needed help. Wow.
And this time, Tea, he did say something along the lines of goodbye before he left, so I think there's either still hope, or he's really picked up a "Easy Steps to Being Nicer" book somewhere in lieu of the "Compliments for Dummies" we suggested he get.
I went back to my physics problems, finished all of them except the ones with the weird diagrams, and spent the rest of night watching Youtube videos recommended by Gretchen and Stella (after I found my headphones), and deciding that vocal trance is really nice, and I feel kind of sad I had never explored this genre further before.
The next morning (well, this morning, really), I received an email from my physics teacher (too lazy to search up his nickname) telling us that he's sending over the diagrams for the eight-part question that I had trouble with yesterday. So the weird diagram problem wasn't just me!
On the not-so-bright side, UTexas is officially under maintenance right now, so I don't feel motivated enough to do any of the questions.
Life is strange. Bizarre. Weird. Odd. Completely wacko.
What has made me come to this conclusion (again)? Well, it all started . . .
(-cue person sitting in a wicker chair reminiscing about the past-)
Anyway, this Wednesday, sometime in its glorious sunny afternoon, my mom received a phone call from the Superintendent informing us of the extremely likely possibility of school the next day. The exact words were more along the lines of, yes, there is school tomorrow, but after last weekend, anything could happen.
I was psyched. I wanted to go to school really badly. Staying at home for a prolonged period of time was not my idea of fun.
However, it appears that my body had a different idea.
I spent an entire Thursday, home, sick, stomach hurting and drowsy (although that could be a side-effect of sleeping too much). It was miserable. I went to the doctor's on Friday, received some general information coupled with fancy words, but I was too out of it to comprehend. My mom took me to the pharmacist's to get my new medication, and then we went to Barnes and Noble's somewhere to just "wander around," as I had suggested.
When we came home, it was already late (3pm-ish), so I decided to ask around and see what I had missed.
Lacking phone numbers (not that I use my phone regularly anyway, besides the occasional call to my mom to pick me up), I went online. Bryant was, as I suspected, there, and so I asked him about chem and physics.
"We learned titration curves in chem," he said. "They're not that bad."
Well, for the past most likely every time I've asked him about anything schoolwork related, he has said, "It's not that bad." Not sure how much his words applied to me.
"What about physics?" I asked. "Was there a lab?"
"No, we learned about series and parallel combinations, and how you would go about solving them."
"How do you go about solving them?"
And thus he launched into a very long near-monologue about the complexities of solving circuits, interrupted occasionally by my odd, "Oh, it's like in that video we watched!" or the ever-so-common, "Okay." It got to the point where I decided, no, I wasn't ever going to memorize everything he said, so I went ahead and copied our conversation and pasted it elsewhere for future reference.
Then, Bryant said, "There's a couple questions about circuit breakers on UTexas."
Wait, what?
I hurriedly checked my Quest account, and, there they were, 45 brand new questions sitting there, waiting for me to unravel their
Before I had a chance to start on those questions, Dora started a conversation with me.
"Hi Ginny! Why weren't you in class today?"
"I was sick," I said. "Did I miss anything?"
"Yeah, we handed in our papers today. Mrs. Tallchief thought you gave your paper to me. She was surprised you weren't there."
Oh. Oops. Right, research paper.
"Don't worry about it," Dora said. "Just send her an email. You should be fine."
Which I did later on, but I haven't received a reply yet, so I'm not sure how that's going. I also have several books I accidentally left in my English classroom, all of which are in danger of disappearing.
I saw Dino as well, so I figured I would ask him about calc. Except, of course, he disappeared right after I attempted to start a conversation. He and Owen both seem to do that a lot.
So I went back to UTexas, fiddled around with the questions, and arrived at a section where there was quite a number of bizarre diagrams that made no sense at all. Frustrated, I checked back to see if anyone else was online to provide useful class information, and I saw Dino again.
"Dino," I said. "You are very elusive. Anyway, what did you guys do in calc today?"
"Where were you?" Or, in Dino-speak, "where werw=e u?" (I find it amusing that he actually noticed his mistake, attempted to hit backspace, missed backspace, and decided to go on regardless.)
"Home," I said. "Sick."
To my surprise, Dino made a frowning face and said, "Feel better."
"Thanks," I said, grasping with this new, nice side of Dino as he reassured me that we didn't go over anything new in calc (yay, because I had thought Mrs. James would go crazy due to our unexpected "break") and told me to let him know if I needed help. Wow.
And this time, Tea, he did say something along the lines of goodbye before he left, so I think there's either still hope, or he's really picked up a "Easy Steps to Being Nicer" book somewhere in lieu of the "Compliments for Dummies" we suggested he get.
I went back to my physics problems, finished all of them except the ones with the weird diagrams, and spent the rest of night watching Youtube videos recommended by Gretchen and Stella (after I found my headphones), and deciding that vocal trance is really nice, and I feel kind of sad I had never explored this genre further before.
The next morning (well, this morning, really), I received an email from my physics teacher (too lazy to search up his nickname) telling us that he's sending over the diagrams for the eight-part question that I had trouble with yesterday. So the weird diagram problem wasn't just me!
On the not-so-bright side, UTexas is officially under maintenance right now, so I don't feel motivated enough to do any of the questions.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Modern Technology
I would like to start off this post with a quote from Tamir (edited for language):
Thanks to modern technology I live in the woods and there are 4 trees blocking my street, none of which have been removed since last night in spite of calling the fire department at 4 pm.
Modern technology indeed. I can also add that, thanks to modern technology, I have discovered that many of my classmates are in a state of powerless, Internet-less panic. And flooding, of course, but lack of power is usually the first thing people apparently talk about when they share their latest news online.
(Perhaps it's because when you're in the public library, basking under *gasp* fluorescent lighting, sitting in front of a sluggish computer, it's hard to remember that you have six inches of water in your basement.)
Regardless, I am very glad that my power--and Internet--are all very well alive and perfectly fine. There was that brief moment yesterday when the lights came whirring to a stop, and my mom had contemplated turning off the laptop to conserve battery-life, but the lights came back on again and everything went on as usual. And the only Internet loss I experienced was due to my modem rebooting after the power loss.
I don't have a basement, so I don't have any flooding issues as well. Most importantly, all of the trees around our house have their roots firmly planted in the ground.
Not that it matters, really, because my house is one minute's drive away from a major road and a fire station (maybe the same that is not clearing the trees in front of Tamir's house), and unless a tree happened to fall in that short stretch of "neglected" road, we're guaranteed road access.
But obviously, there are both positives and negatives to this situation.
The positive is that there is no school tomorrow, yay! I get to sleep in late tomorrow, and, when I do get up, I have plenty of time to go over the AP calc problems Mrs. James gave us on Friday.
Of course, this brings up a critical negative: Mrs. James is probably panicking right now, with the mantra "May 5th is approaching" stuck in her head. We had already missed lots of class time with our snow days, and our limited knowledge of series and whatever else comes after them is definitely not good.
Speaking of school, I have also (accidentally) left a few books I needed to quote from for my research paper in my English classroom. I was hoping to get them tomorrow, and finish my last edits before I have to hand the paper in on Tuesday. Right now, I can only hope that "house nearly surrounded by water," as Mogley eloquently puts it, is good enough of an excuse for the deadline to be extended, if only for a day or so.
Hey, it's better than the hackneyed "my dog ate my homework."
No Internet for many people in town also means nearly no communication with other people (as my parents think the phone is the next worst thing after video games, at least for me). So I compromised by chatting with my friends back from my old city. Stella informed me that "there's something on the net describing what would happen if we lost the Internet." But upon further probing, it appears that she has lost the link for me to read more, so our conversation disintegrated into a series of pointy emotes (e.g. >.> and <.<).
I guess times like these I really wish we still socialized 100% like cavepeople--completely face-to-face with no technology whatsoever.
(Incidentally, the wind did not stop countless people from taking the SATs--or the PPPPPPSATs--this weekend. Well, all except for Argon, who had taken them the month prior and so left early. We're all such studious people, aren't we?)
Ps. I also just realized that this places Argon tied for most-tagged with he-who-must-not-be-named-or-else-the-tie-shall-be-broken.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Procrastination and Another New Beginning
If it were completely up to me, school would assign no homework at all, and we would only have to do work in class. It's totally plausible, with after-school group study sessions to review materials covered in class, without the plethora of distractions home (and, quite often, my laptop that happens to have internet access) offers.
I would never, ever finish an assignment five minutes before it's due.
Argon would know. He's very concerned with my current ability to handle schoolwork right now. It's a little disconcerting, actually, how often he says I seem so stressed out.
I'm not. Really. I just mock-complain a lot, because my mind goes blank every now and then and I don't know what to say. Interesting, coming from a girl everyone thinks is really quiet.
Anyway, the point of this came from my current status of procrastinating instead of doing my English notecards, as I totally should do, had I been the good little girl I was back in... uh, seventh grade? I finished my homework ahead of time back then.
In fact, I still blame that guy in eighth grade, who always did homework in class and got caught (as opposed to me, who always did homework in class and never got caught) as my major corrupter. I did get a key chain as compensation though, but that's another story.
As I was saying. I had been procrastinating, when I roamed upon my Gmail tab (not accidentally) and spotted Tea. I immediately made myself "visible" and said hi.
"Hi," Tea said. "You know I blog, right?"
Oh, Tea blogs?
"I know now," I typed. Blogging reminded me of all those semi-attempts I had at blogging prior. And my half-hearted posts that collected dust.
Oh yeah. Pleasant memories of a self-proclaimed princess of procrastination.
"Well," Tea said. "Read this."
And she promptly sent over the link to her blog.
Which, I have to say, looks all amazing, partly because I myself have never accomplished such prolific projects of such massive scale. (It's also amazing otherwise, but I've always been uncreative with praise and such.) I scanned through the latest post--mentioning me as Ginny, which is evidently where I got my screen name from--and the quite... interesting turn of events. This, on some scale, is sad, because I had been there half the time, and I caught on to only two parts of the conversation, namely Irving's ad and Dino's bot-like voice. Oh well. I was always slow to react.
But this raises a very valid question.
Why am I not blogging?
Or, to phrase it in terms that strike my conscience the most:
Why am I not continuing to blog on those blogs I've started?
Posing that as my "Question of Subconsciousness" as I work on my remaining six notecards, I realize that it's because blogging had never been fun. It's always been something I wanted to do when I wanted to write about all the things that troubled me, but I channeled those into stories instead.
Oh, and this reminds me, I'm a little upset that I didn't get even an "honorable mention" in the Reflections contest (Boris did get second place for his poem, though, which I remembered him printing off on the day it was due, probably because we were both in the library that morning with last minute edits), but then I realized that winning wasn't the reason I wrote. I write because I want to visualize my emotions.
It's why most people don't get the things I mention in my writing. I use a lot of references (I like historical ones the best). I describe things with a novelty that is only completed because of the connotations of the words themselves. And I write with how it sounds in mind, because to me, the words are often more important than the plot.
But those were stories.
This is real life. And real life is supposed to be fun, because it's pointless if I go around being moody all the time.
(I had a discussion yesterday, as it chanced, with Stella, a friend of mine back in a world far, far away, about the meaning of life. Or lack thereof, I suppose. We ended up mulling over what existence meant, why we still lived and hung on to our lives, and the rather disturbing thoughts Stella had.)
Real life, and Ginny-world (Nephria, as it is called, for the Unenlightened), are two drastically different things. I've forgotten that writing could be just, purely, unequivocally about fun, and that's where I had gone wrong on my Quest O'Blog.
So, a fresh start?
In 2010.
Maybe.
But first, my five remaining notecards. English teachers may not be able to count, but NoodleBib unfortunately can.
