Weekend and Weak Start

"I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more."

Saturday night was fun. Carley, Jeff, and I went to Tom Jones, orange pleather heaven, and were completely surrounded by scene-sters enjoying a late night snack. Carley slept over, and during the night we talked about the difference between pro-life and pro-choice, our lives, and the disgusting sense of entitlement at GV. Waking up, we made bacon and toast and sang during clean up,

"Doin' dishes as a team
Gonna make them squeaky clean
do doo do do doo..."

and so on an so forth. After robotics on Sunday, I went over Kacey's to talk about her trip to Ireland and have a generally good time with a friend it's tough to keep in touch with. When Steph came back from work, I made her tell me about her Ireland experience, because it was very different from Kacey's pubcrawling of the brogueish land. Unfortunately, I had a severe need to study for HiQ, as we had a meet the following day, so I had to leave a bit early after some very yummy cake. Studying for HiQ was not awesome, but we won with a 59 today, tying us in second place with Haverford. It was a fairly easy meet, pretty much all of the questions we got wrong came from my section. However, I pulled out the toss-up math for the second meet in a row. It's fairly ridiculous, but I'm proud. Friendly's was awful. I hate going to the HiQ Boys Club. I'm not in AP Physics or Stat or Calc, and I'm good at art and have a vagina. The hostility is subtle, admittedly, but there is conversation I am ashamed happens while the sweater is still on. It's not something I'm proud to go to anymore, because I don't feel a part of it.

Quotes: Three Years of a Secret Blog

They're all this and pages and pages of texts from Jimmy and sickly sweet musings I am too embarrassed to post.

"I screamed so much. I tried so hard to be normal, just until the end, so I screamed in anger and sadness and there was a catch in my voice and I hoped they lost so I wouldn't have to face another third quarter alone."

"This morning was awkward and tragic and frustrating. The new year is dawning."

"It was blue and we fell skyward..."

"If there is a time in the future where we can fall responsibly in love, I will be lovingly and devotedly head over heels for him."

"I want to be better, but hopefully he appreciates the eager enthusiasm and innocent desire to learn. "

"It felt so good and my will melted to him, though not all my anxiety."

"My existence does not include potentially scar-inducing activities. Therefore, I am a bit lacking in crazy/dangerous, easily recountable tales with the evidence always with me."

"He was worried my dad would walk in and discover his baby girl engaged in devious sex acts with the scruffy pothead. He didn't phrase it that way, but I got it."

"It was about me, and this full body tension, and the thrill of dangerous sexuality that had evaded me..."

"It hurt so much to say with confidence,..."

"I feel like I'm taken for granted, but not worth getting back."

"he'll never love you in public and he'll never love you when it's inconvenient for him"

"Loving you means I'll always be scared you'll stop. And every day I realize, someday, you won't love me, and we won't be friends."

"Somehow it makes it easier not to be ashamed."

"And in realizing that my happiness with him was the reason for her non-smile, acknowledged that someday I will wear that sad indifference."

"This morning I cried because I couldn't believe how wonderful things are with me and how happy and different and strange I was and how my everything is so crazywildperfect."

"My heart will break for you, and I will do anything in my power to save you from your evils, but my power is small against the world of pain and suffering we will live and die in."

"I really like people and it makes me sad sometimes that nice people are sad and I don't understand any of it
I feel so young and naive and I don't know why I walk all the time"

"I don't question her faith so much, because it gives her comfort, but it's hard not to."

"my Aarfy, your Michaela
what's one more dead among millions"

"You are more ordinary then I used to think"

"Please, stop! Your words are stabbing me!"

"We can discuss politics and math and science and humor and Wikipedia forever, but not philosophy or how your childhood made you who you are. I know this is simply the product of a sentimental late night pity-fest, but I've never shared anything really important with you except what was relevant to yourself."

"I don't want any of your monogamy, girls who make you happy, make you happy."

"I don't want to say that of my day, I look forward most to talking to you; that I giggle and grin when I think about lying in bed together or looking at you..."

"I pine softly for moments, rather than lifetimes."

"and I'm fantastic at keeping other people's secrets
but not my own"

"I keep falling for boys who do not need me"

"I am so worn down and tired. Time passes, I pass with it. My mom hugged me extra tight on Tuesday. She knew I was sad. I knew she was sad too."

"I berate myself in scathing letters and allow the sentiments to resonate in my silly little head. "

"My biggest regret is how much I believed in the future."

On blue M&Ms, I wish for opposing extremities. Either end provides more comfort than the in between.

I lack gross feminity. I consider college a possibility to run off into the sunset in high heels and hooker make up, to be a bimbo or an object or someone to be loved and wash the floors, at least for a little while. Giving up freedom for security works.

Ontology and Honesty

I'm ignorant and inexperienced!
I cannot believe myself into or out of a position except by state of mind and not physical or sovereign state. A glass of water doesn't change if you think happy thoughts at it. A human might, if you happen to smile during your telepathic direction of good will. "There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face." Beyond any seemingly sincere smile may lie misgiving and insecurity. I cannot prove that anything exists beyond my consciousness, and yet I trust the spoken word as promise. It's about about connotation and insinuations. To say, "You are my rock," is generally accepted to mean that the person in question is a source of stable security. For me to say, "You are my rock," would imply that I am being weighed down. I speak honestly to the best of my ability, usually in a blunt fashion, but I'll doublespeak more accurately in the implications. Because I utilize the nuance of language, I expect that others can and do, on occasion. I discover fine details of literary craftwork and sift double meaning from language that was not meant to hold any. While it serves itself well in academic passage analysis, it is an abhorrent practice to apply to text messages and love letters from time past. And yet, from every insecurity and momentary gasp it has elicited from me, I am rewarded with the occasional unveiling of an intent they did not mean to express. It is not worth it.

Dad

Being little, my dad was the strongest, oldest, smartest person in the whole world. He could hoist me and my Cookie Monster balloon up on his shoulders. He could beat up anyone or save me from anything. Now, he is older and a little broken, but wiser. On the way home tonight, we talked about musicians drinking to excess, keg parties in the woods, the slow-creeping, inevitable college, and an idyllic past. We sang "For What It's Worth." His voice is more pleasant for never hearing it in melody. I know he doesn't sing with Jack.

M&Ms, Spray Paint, and Sex Toys

Glitter is Evil!

Othello won Desdemona not with witchcraft, but storycraft. She was young and innocent and charmed by the words of the scarred and hardened old general. Oh, the power of language.

I'll love you when you to go prison
for a starry-eyed idealism
But someday when we both get old
We'll wish we'd been more scared than bold

New Year's Resolutions 2010

Go Streaking
Go to Philly and NYC
Learn Stairway to Heaven
Get a working copy of a Stones, Dylan, and Zeppelin album
Send a letter to Jon Stewart and Stephen T. Colbert
Become a member of NPR
Donate to the ACLU
Start a webcomic
Build a snowman
Build a wall mount CD rack
Learn to tango
Learn to change oil and tires
Cook two meals from scratch a month
Write apology letters to everyone I've wrong
Write letters to all the guys I've had crushes on
Watch the launch of a space shuttle
Learn to roller blade backwards
Send a message in a bottle
Plant a tree
Go to a protest
Sleep under the stars
Learn to juggle
Go to college

Read the Following Books:
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Wide Sargasso Sea
Pride and Prejudice
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
Heart of Darkness
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
A Streetcar Named Desire
The Age of Innocence

Watch These Movies:
The Godfather Trilogy
Lawrence of Arabia
Singin' in the Rain
The Sound of Music
Annie Hall
The Deer Hunter
Schindler's List
A Clockwork Orange
Rebel Without a Cause
GoodFellas

2KX

Yesterday, I set about making my New Year's Resolutions without much inspiration. While my '08 resolutions were born from the idea that "with every broken heart, we should become more adventurous," this year was devoid of motivation besides self-improvement. However, with last year's list in hand, I pulled out a sheet of paper and a gel pen. The goals came more quickly than I anticipated, especially after my dad lectured on the decline of creativity and basic self-sufficiency. In all, the list is longer than last year, with more specific goals.

After helping Jeff with his poster, we called up the co-conspirators to go to Longwood. Student Tickets, FTW! I'd never seen the Christmastime gardens, and was awed very much so. Unfortunately, we went a little fast, but I got to see the whole park, including the residential DuPont manor. In this former home, now museum, we walked through the display rooms, reading informational blurbs and generally educating ourselves. However, in the last room, there was a very large cat splayed across one of the chairs. Sleepy and fat, we later found out this pudgy cat's name was Beumont or something, he was one of nine cats that inhabit the gardens, and that those cats have a better health care plan than any of us could ever hope to have. Around 9:10, we hurried over to the fireworks viewing area. Despite the rain, they were beyond spectacular and synced to classical orchestrations. My favorite rain like falling stars. Standing at the peak of the sloped lawn, we could see that particular kind of firework was falling through the sky and landing among trees and fountains. Being young assholes without parents, we ran to the exit and through the parking lot.

To Viv's! Everyone else has places to be, so Jeff and I hurried over for pancakes and to meet her boo. There was an exchanging of YouTube videos. Jeff saw "Two Girls One Cup." I saw the reaction, but kept a fair distance from the computer screen. Dick Clark is an animatronic zombie and Ryan Seacrest has a funny nose. I got dropped off at 1, my brother already asleep and dad reading away in his room. My last meal of the decade was Viv's pancakes, an obviously good end to the first decade I managed to live all the way through.

~

Wayne Allwine, the man who voiced Micky Mouse longer than we have been alive, died in May this year. In real life, he was married to the voice actress who is still currently the voice of Minnie.

I'm not saying it's right or wrong, but it hurts.


When an obvious thought, delayed, strikes suddenly,
it strikes more powerfully.

[Edit: Posted this in the wrong blog, but some of it's good.]

One Group: Three Projects

In AP English, my class was given a few options for a creative presentation of Hamlet. Some of those options consisted of interpretive dance, write a song, and select a play-list for a theatrical production of the play. Being young and ambitious proponents of the "Shakespearience," our group elected to construct all three of those options. Of course, in selecting the interpretive dance, I assumed that I would be the focus, as I am the only one in our class who would be comfortable with publically rolling around on the floor to depict the tragic and untimely death of frail Ophelia. Hopefully, our presentation will be recorded, and I will not giggle through the entire production, set to "Nightingale" by Howling Bells. Secondly, selecting a playlist. We shuffled through iTunes and found titles fairly related to Hamlet, "Poisonous Intent," "Lovesick Teenagers," and "The Day We All Died" and the like. However, we also included "Poker Face" after no debate as to relevancy. Doodling a CD cover was not difficult, except for remembering what happened in the play that could be accurately depicted on the tiny, irridescent space. Writing the Ballad of Ophelia was tougher. While I'd started out with a good basis, Evan P. had tuned Kira's guitar to drop D. I'm not fantastic at tuning from memory. Luckily, there was a tuner. Unluckily, I didn't know how to use it. Instead, Kira and I elected to go with the good ole' Psych standby, "Last Christmas." It's blunt and I don't know how the melody to the actual verse goes, but it'll be rockin'.

Jon Stewart

"In a quiet, unassuming way, this guy from the previous generation has become the symbol of many of the things our generation is all about: logic, skepticism and policitcal change through merciless teasing. And the fact that most of our elders call us "the worst generation" for relying on a comedy program for our news, while we call them "the insanest generation" for creating an environment in which a comedy program is one of the more reliable sources of news, seems like one of the more interesting conflicts of the decade."

Damn Fine Day

HiQ!
Stasi and I saw the most aesthetically pleasing Robert Downey Jr. as Sherlock Holmes!
Viv made pancakes!
[H]ouse!
Chase took his shirt off!

Rockin'.
:D

[Edit: I love Barack Obama, "I believe that robotics can inspire young people to pursue science and engineering. And I also want to keep an eye on those robots in case they try anything."]

I Got the Clap(per) for Christmas

My extended family quite aptly fits that adjective. There are a number of different religious creeds and geographical locales they have settling in, each with his own stereotype. We're the feel-good, quirky family holiday movie of the year without all the crying until someone gets into a verbal battle of political ideals they weren't prepared for. My grandmom got the Slap Chop. I got the Clapper. My dad got a "rabbit skin rug" in the style of a bear skin rug, but made actually of polyester and displaying a very large "rabbit head" in the style of the manly bear skin variety. Aunt Kathy, the stylish socialista, could not make it up this year, but called and shared some lovely conversation. Uncle Mike, the sarcastic comedic relief, spent his time on the phone with her loudly and facetiously complaining that "Roger," my aunt Karen's South African, soon to be husband, would be wearing a "puffy shirt" to the wedding to match his medically required eye-patch. (The brothers are hosting the brother-in-law's pirate themed bachelor party.) Towards the end of the night, after tea and pie, my aunt Jeanne brought out two very large, very heavy boxes of books. While being courteous and taking turns, the whole family sauntered up in pairs to select neat little stacks of neat little books to supplement their Christmas booty. "You don't see this in every house in America," my dad commented lightly. It made me very proud of the home and environment I had been raised in.

[Edit: PS. 'Christmas booty' shout-out to Stasi.]

Must Be Tired of Something

Today, I went sledding for the first time in many a year. It was exhilarating to fly screaming through the stinging snow. Even more thrilling was Kate and I piled onto one sled attempting to knock over Jeff and Stasi, who were sledless spoilsports. :P I heartily enjoyed my time and hot chocolate afterwards.

Lavishly dreaming of classy drinks, classy ties, and warm solo vocals, I've been listening to Frank Sinatra. The band is a complement to a traditionally pleasant voice, and the lyrics pass through meaningful musing to sappy serenade.

I remember being cynical. Sophomore year, Tboc recommended The March of Follies, or some similarly titled novel on the basis that I was enough of a cynic to appreciate it. Still, there was a time of idealism, and I have since returned to my scathing roots. It is not meant to say that I am unenthusiastic and have stopped dreaming, but I'm more realistic. I don't want to be another white girl that didn't get out of suburbia. However, my future seems so empty with possibility that I may fill it with comfortable familiarity. It's hard to find a compromise for myself. It's much less painful to be cynical and faithless.

I Believe in Magic and a Thing Called Love

I danced around my room listening to The Sing Off cast rendition of "Mr. Blue Sky." I air-guitar'd. There has not been this much of that kind of dancing in my room since last summer. My life is bangin'! Over a lifetime of wishes, I have roughly a 50+% success rate with blue M&M magic. I'm cute, talented, endearing, and enthusiastic. My family is amazing. I had a happy childhood and a ballin' adolescence. I have good memories that make great stories. Bitchin'!

Good Things Specific to Now:
Snow- all related beauty and creation
Hot Chocolate- with marshmallows
COOKIES!
Hot Apple Cider
Christmas Lights
"Holiday" Songs
Having trees inside
Christmas ornaments
Friendlier people
Parties!
Days off
Solstice
After tomorrow it's getting lighter again!
Family
Pumpkin Pie- whipped cream
New socks
Gag Gift
Candles
Poinsettias
Fire Places
Blankets
Scarves
Mittens
Yule Log
Christmas Cards- glitter
Birds puff up their feathers
Cats have winter coats
I have a winter coat

I'm On Cracked

"...The end result is a bizarre image of an invisible pedophile who's apparently only visible when viewed through some special infrared camera. Parents, your child could be getting teabagged by an invisible pedo right now."

"Robert, no! Holy crap, is that what you look like without a shirt on? Aren't you supposed to be some kind of sex symbol? You look like a white Urkel."

I believe that I am making holiday cards as an excuse to use glitter. It's not often I have arts and crafts projects that demand the excessive use of sparkling... I don't even know what substance glitter is made out of.

I got my gifts for the "Dirty Pollyanna," the "Dirty Dirty Pollyanna," and the "Psych Pollyanna." I'm finished shopping for mom and dad and have all the cards for my teachers, but only three friends. I wanted to get "Play with Me: Massage Oil" from Victoria's Secret for the Dirty Dirty Pollyanna, but alas! it was too expensive.

Blue M&M Magic Works

Yesterday morning, I had my favorite bowl and my favorite spoon and I was so ready for Honey Cheerios, it was gonna be awesome. However, to my great distress, there were no Cheerios to brighten my day with their toroidal delight. Settling for Lucky Charms, I decided they were still a way to bring happy nostalgia to my morning. They were stale, and I was saddened.

On the bus, past Bethel Springs, the sunrise over purple New Jersey was splendidly orange. Steve and I discussed some notion not particularly relevant to anything, but that made me laugh. English class was a similar source of irrelevant humor, as we continued acting out Hamlet. This time, my role was that of "GHOST." I do not believe I was terribly frightening in the role, but no matter. Art lacked the holiday songs we'd been so long enjoying, and in Psych we had a pop test. There were some nefarious going ons, but we shall see how that works out. Math was full of stories and a few bad puns, but otherwise the same as any other positive day.

After school, my mom picked up Jack and me for our Christmas portraits and some Christmas shopping. I did not find a cheap gift for dirty dirty pollyanna, but I did resolve my need for a psych pollyanna gift. She dropped me back at my dad's. I fell asleep. Jeff came over. He brought me a bag full of bags of M&Ms and retaught me how to solve a Rubix cube, but I've since forgotten again. We shared stories and a little music on guitar that I recognized, but could not name. I played Hallelujah, a hesitant bit of Lizzy, and the intro and chorus of Brick. Later, we ran out to try to find milk, because the 202 Wawa was out of everything, including gas. After he left, I went to bed in a very warm and contented affection. I woke up very early to a bright room lit by snow's reflection. Merry Snow.

Read is a Homophone

Budding time for liveliness
And growth to all things new,
She shot up like a creeping vine
Desiring to do.

Her bright face flushed by summer's sun,
She read stained sheets of paper.
Making out the meaningful
Wherever she was able.

Still the tired sun sank down
An ode to autumn skies.
Little girls must go to sleep,
As will to nature lies.

Empyreal in blanket snow
The moon reflects on time,
On wasted beauty, summer sun,
And youth that passed her by.

Poems and Prose

Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.

It is a sad thing, a goodbye long coming and too soon met.

Autumn frosts have slain July...

I seem to cycle through beautiful bursts of obsession, musing through poetry, aliveness, philosophy, all mighty knowledge, prose, and art. Currently, I am enamored with poetry.

Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

"My favorite gift was..." Both an English prompt and freedom. I wrote about my first set of wheels, an open top Jeep, that fire engine red adventure-mobile exactly my size circa 1998. It got horrible grass mileage, but was endless on sidewalks. Too bad there were no sidewalks. I read my prompt like Cheryl Trykv in Teen Getaway, pregnant with dramatic pause and that cool, indifferent whine. It got a few laughs, some snaps. Even as I write, my thoughts pause unnecessarily for effect. It's very- me.

In mercy lift your drooping wings and go.

Langston Hughes' poem "Harlem" contains the line "...a raisin the sun," from which Lorraine Hansberry titled her play. One of the girls in my class read the novel, and related that this particular allusion implies "one should not let their dreams shrivel like that eponymous line." This is not, I think, the intent of choosing those words. Hughes does not declare statements on the nature of dreams, only questions it. He merely suggests that perhaps shriveling is a fate of dreams deferred, or maybe "they explode?"

We warned ourselves. That you might despise
Me—hate all we both loved best—
None of us ever guessed.

Being in Lit. Mag. brings an incredible appreciation for talented authors, namely because most people aren't. The exposure to all writing styles clarifies how to improve my own ability. Whereas I formerly assumed that my writing was disconnected and abrupt beyond comprehension, I realize that, relatively, this is not the case. Beyond the syntactical improvement, I've grown to discriminate on the basis of substance. A number of poems dwell on themes I would have written in the past. Now, I see them as trite adolescence. Still, I am unable to create my own original expressions. Still, I try.

But I say it’s fine. Honest, I do.

And I’d like to be a bad woman, too,

And wear the brave stockings of night-black lace

And strut down the streets with paint on my face.

As far as I am aware, I have never met a prostitute. Its criminalization is, I think, an atrocious manipulation by males of morals and the female body. It is not desperate women who drive the streets at night looking to satiate their desires; men, no matter how powerful, will always be subject to their irresistible needs. Because of this, lady of the night sounds classy, but is as in opposition to class as day is to night.

So let us melt, and make no noise

"After working sixty hours again for what reason" stirs my fancy and notions of bureaucracy.
"Amor Mundi" is a another good poem.

Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness

In context of the rest of the poem, I perceived the above line in reference to myself. However, as an independent sentiment, I thought of Viv and Molly. Viv, and the idea of her, has nutured a restlessness in me and an awesome appreciation for blue M&Ms. Molly, fantastic resident of the written world, has a penumbra of life, even when I am not near her.

I wrote some poetry tonight.