New Year's Resolutions!

Yes, the time has rolled around once again. The time to throw out your old JoBros calendars and put up the Bieber. Personally, I gave up on calendars. I mean, I can never remember whether it's Wednesday or Thursday or Sunday to begin with, so why know the date? That habit to not know the day of the week has been rather detrimental in my college admissions' process, since that January deadline is creeping up, and I still have at least one more essay to write, and who knows how many others will pop up tomorrow morning? However, this post is about my New Year's resolutions. And keeping track of time is not one of them. That would be more appropriate on a New Year's List of Miracles.

Anyways, when I get back to school on Tuesday, I will be an VIP (very interesting person, duh), according to the social definitions of today's strange, strange world. 

Here's my list!

10) Finish reading A Portrait of a Lady.  

This Henry James' classic has been plaguing me for two. years. I absolutely adore it, it's one of my favorite books, but I'm only on page, oh, 78 out of a couple hundred. I tell myself that I don't have time to sit down and digest the gorgeous language of Henry James, that I need to be relaxed and introspective with several hours on my hands in order to get anything out of it. Nah, I really just need to sit down and read it. Guilty secret: I actually wrote an essay about the works of Henry James for college, and mentioned A Portrait as one of my favorites...

Time Estimate: I WILL finish this book by Easter. 

9) Watch Alice in Wonderland. 

Yeah, yeah. I was the person who was SO excited to see this movie. I raved on and on about how great it looked, how great Johnny Depp looked, etc. But I haven't seen it yet. And I know it's supposed to be awful and all, but this is my goal, guys. I need to see it.  

Time Estimate: I WILL watch this movie by Valentine's Day.

8) Have a Marx Brothers' Party. 

This has been in the works for YEARS, since very, very few people have been exposed to the genius of the Marx Brothers, a group of brothers (who'd have known?) with a strange and clever sense of humor (I like to think my sense of humor is comparable...) which is a mix of slapstick and language manipulation 

(i.e. Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read). Groucho Marx also originated Lydia the Tattooed Lady.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4zRe_wvJw8

Will Ferrell for the intelligentsia and grease moustache-lovers.

Time Estimate: I WILL have this party by graduation.

7) Break up Michael Buble's impending marriage. 

He's marrying this Argentinian chick in April. But seriously, she doesn't know English, he doesn't know Spanish. How long is that gonna last, especially when I get involved? I'm all for strange matches, but you gotta be able to communicate in the same language. 

NO!

Time Estimate: Ummm, as soon as Michael sees me. And I'm sure fate is on my side. I mean, I'm even going to his home country of Canada in March! Just think of the possibilities...

6) Have an affair with one of my college professors. 

All the interesting people do this. Well, at least in movies. Drew Barrymore, Maggie Gyllenhaal, etc. And of course there's Patricia Cornwell, who wins my vote for most interesting person EVER. She's a successful crimewriter who is bisexual, a descendant of Harriet Beecher Stowe, bulimic, anorexic, and alcoholic at some point in her life, donated thousands of dollars to both Clinton and Bush, caused an FBI agent to attempt the murder of his wife because she was having an affair with Ms. Cornwell, is best friends with Billy Graham, writes books about Jack the Ripper and sepsis, AND, to make this whole spiel relevant, married one of her professors at Davidson College (one of my top choices!) right after graduation. And that ain't from Wikipedia. 

Time Estimate: This WILL happen by next New Year's. There are other conditions, though...(not to be picky, but there is an age limit).

5) Pull a badass senior prank. 

Is there any way that I would be expelled? I mean, I add a lot to the community of Bishop Lynch: involvement, good statistical additions to make it seem smarter, respectability, family to follow, etc. So, if you guys come up with a wonderful idea for a prank (it has to be CLEVER, NOT [too] DANGEROUS, and WORKABLE) let me know about it and I'll orchestrate it. Nothing I can do can get me in trouble, and if that's not true, we'll find out soon!

Time Estimate: This WILL happen by graduation.

4) Go on a road trip anywhere but Kansas. 

I would love to set a goal to backpack in Europe, but that will have to wait till 2012 or so...I would rather go to the mountains (the whole Julie Andrews, climb every mountain, the hills are alive obsession). And I would like to go with crazy adventurous people. Or at least people who pretend to be crazy adventurous. Because otherwise I wouldn't get to go... 

Time Estimate: This WILL happen by August and the end of summer.

3) Get in some sort of shape. 

Yeah, exercising would probably do a lot for my energy level, confidence level, etc. But it's such a pain. However, I was inspired by my brother and my aunt, who both ran the White Rock Marathon, to run a bit and maybe put some effort into my future health.

Time Estimate: This WILL start once all the cookies at my house are gone. 

2) Become a ginger! 

AHHH! I've wanted to dye my hair red for YEARS. I've gotten highlights, lowlights, and all that, but I've never gone all the way. Well, until tonight. Wild New Year's party? Nahh. I'm gonna dye my hair light auburn, watch Despicable Me with the little ones at my house, and eat a bag of Hershey's Kisses at midnight. 

SHE is my inspiration: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVdia_7a0Vw&feature=related 

Time Estimate: Oh, this IS happening in five hours or so.

1) Become a vegetarian!

When I told my sister that I would challenge her in a competition to see who could stay vegetarian longer this year, I shocked myself. But it's really exciting to think about, actually. I will have to cook for myself, eat healthily, and discover those cool vegetarian restaurants everyone raves about all the time! I will still eat fish and things like chicken bouillon cubes in vegetable soup, but steak, fried chicken, bacon, sausage: all OUT. I've got an account on allrecipes.com, and a sister and best friend to call if I'm really hungry and need an idea that sounds better than this: http://allrecipes.com//Recipe/cookie-dough-hummus/Detail.aspx

But gahh Thanksgiving is gonna suck. Lentil turkey? Tofu stuffing? Black bean gravy? I dread it already. 

Time Estimate: Honestly, I WILL keep this all year. It probably will get easier once I leave my meat-loving family to go off to college, but until then, I will survive. Thank God I love spinach.

I am such a cool person. 

Happy New Year!

Overreact Lately? Join the Club.

After an awful week of unspeakable trauma and pain, I woke up on Saturday. Yes, I meant that literally and figuratively. I woke up after ten hours of solid sleep. I woke up after 120 hours of absolute insanity. Insanity, in this case, being defined as 'overreaction'. Now for all of you who read Billy Budd, remember you this:

"Who in the rainbow can draw the line where the violet tint ends and the orange tint begins? Distinctly we see the difference of the colors, but where exactly does the one first blendingly enter into the other? So with sanity and insanity."

violet to orange
sanity to insanity
love to hate
understanding to annoyance
forgiveness to betrayal
reaction to overreaction

Where do they end? Is there ever an answer?
Psh, no.
It all depends on who you are and who is analyzing your actions.

But I have always expressed an annoyance for overreactionary people. Drama queens, kill 'em all! As I traversed the line between sanity and insanity, though, I crossed the line between love and hate, forgiveness and betrayal, and in my overreactions I grew more understanding and less annoyed by melodramatic persons. However, as I realized my overreactions, I was unable to stop. The slippery slope argument holds true, my dears. And I grew annoyed with myself.

Why was I acting like a normal person? For godssake, I'm NOT a normal person. Or, I wasn't supposed to be. I'm the intimidating feminist who needs no one. No support, no affection, no encouragement, no one. WHAT CHANGED?! What could I do about it? I oscillated from feeling utter pain to feeling ecstatic. My mood changes seemed simultaneous. I had never felt so ALIVE, so in tune with the little devil on my shoulder.

And yet, I said at the beginning that I woke up. If I was so alive, then why did I need to wake up?

Because, real life does not happen like that. You cannot be that unstable without being diagnosed as manic-depressive or just plain crazy. There is a point when you have to take control of your emotions, funnel them into something productive. And that is hard. So hard. Harder than calculus, harder than running a marathon, harder than anything you can insert in the blank. But you have to wake up. You have to recognize that those people who are helping you along, making you cookies and brownies, handing you kleenexes, talking to you constantly, they have problems, too. Some of those problems are most likely more important than yours, too. Perhaps they go home crying every day, too. Perhaps they can't eat, either. Perhaps they feel nauseous for absolutely no reason. Perhaps they need you to wake up once in a while.

It's alright to indulge yourself a bit. God knows, I indulged myself for way too long. And now I feel drained. I feel overly sensitive, like I just spent a day outside being whipped by the wind. I can't give my all to those who need it. I spent too much on myself. And I feel guilt. Overwhelming guilt. Because I have woken up. Seriously, those kids in India really DON'T have enough to eat. I can get over myself now. And so can you.

I have been acting out for myself with my pre-pubescent mentality, and though I am so thankful for those who have been playing along with me, it is time for me to take off that godawful mask and become myself again. However, myself is not that intimidating feminist girl, myself is an empathetic person who truly did learn an important lesson. One which each of us must learn in our own time, but one which requires the support which I believe I am now ready to give as those closest to me gave freely to me.

I apologize for my overreactions, but can't I be given a bit of a break? Can't I stay on the forgiveness side? Do I have to be branded a Judas? After all, without Judas, we wouldn't be here right now. Of course I meant all of those words when I said them, but now, I will try to say words that will force you to believe that I really did change. I changed my mind. And I believe that I have thrown those silver coins back at those judgmental people whom I have just recently abandoned.

However, belief and delusion are on the same line of uncertainty...Who can tell what will happen tomorrow? Who knows how many more awakenings until I reach my final maturation? No one can decide that but me.

Good luck, self!

Emotionally Compromised

"Doctor, I am emotionally compromised and no longer fit for command, please note the time and date in the ship's log."

Zachary Quinto, a.k.a. the 'new Spock', said this line after the jerk Kirk had just incited Spock's anger and sorrow over the death of his mother. Now, it's hard to feel sorry for the dude, since two minutes later he was making out with Zoe Saldana in the elevator, but I think we can all sympathize with the message. He realized, after giving Kirk the punch in the face he very much deserved, that his emotions were affecting his day to day functions, that he really could not make rational judgments because of the severe traumatic shock his body and mind had just gone through.

Spock had an easy way to get out of responsibility after that. He literally did not have the authority to make decisions. He could go along with whatever the new captain said, realizing that his opinion really was not objective in the slightest. But we are not all half-Vulcan. We all do not have the option to simply give up responsibility. In real life, we constantly have to make those decisions which could help or harm others so easily, and very often we thrust our emotions to the side, trying to be objective but instead building up a deadly defense wall which, once perpetrated by a glance or a word, falls in on itself in a hopeless case of self-destruction. Now, try saying that last sentence three times fast.

Seriously, though, I have no solution.
It's stupid to try to give advice or make important decisions (or even unimportant decisions) when emotionally unstable in any which way, whether it be love or death or life. I mean, just tonight I've eaten a week's worth of ice cream and nut brownies (and I do not like nut brownies in the slightest...), and that seemingly unimportant decision to mistreat my body will cause a rather unpleasant stomachache in the morning. And it also kinda destroys my fast for Thanksgiving...
It's also stupid to curl up in a ball and refuse to interact with people, for fear that your instability will transfer over to their lives and result in a misinterpreted signal or whatever. Pretty much, don't isolate yourself. Someone is willing to listen, even if it is someone whom you have never really spoken to before. Hell, give me a call, facebook me, whatever. However, take into account that the person you are talking to may be emotionally compromised as well. Don't take anything at face value. That doesn't mean don't trust anyone, but get second opinions.

Now, before you start praising me as the bringer of all things truth, realize that I myself may be emotionally compromised. My blog might just be the rantings of my subconscious whenever I feel slighted, or wronged, or lonely.

Emotions are funny things. The other day, I was having mood swings. One moment I would be jump-up-and-down happy (and I'm so past caring about what other people think of me that I in fact did jump up and down several times throughout the day) and two minutes later I would be digging a hole to bury myself in the ground (fortunately, there is no loose soil in any of the classrooms, so I couldn't literally do that).

A friend told me a couple of minutes ago that I should stop concentrating on the many negatives in my life right now and instead think of the positives. Cliche, yes, but it is cheesy holiday schmaltzy season, and it really can help to count your blessings. This Thursday, forget your cynicism, your agnosticism, your bitterness, your sorrow, and instead think of those things you have-friends, family, pets, food, clothing, (school), LIFE, and let yourself be emotionally compromised with the absolute joy you will feel. Give up your attempt to be cool and chill and self-contained and let yourself feel something. Tear down your wall yourself before it can collapse on you.

Emotional Compromise is the best way to let yourself be human.
And, for everyone out there bothering to read this, I probably love you.
And I definitely forgive you.

VIVE LA FRANCE!

I really needed to update this. It's been way too long since you have heard any words of wisdom coming from my writing desk. I thought it would be appropriate to make another list for you, perhaps tips for college interviews? But I don't have time to force my witty mind to make you laugh. So, instead, I will be giving a little lecture on NATIONAL FRENCH WEEK!
Yes, it starts NOW!

You will hear French prayers, French music, French phrases. You will see French t-shirts, French posters, and smell the sweet scent of French food if you walk by 112A. Now, cough cough, I have heard, especially this year, a huge amount of DERISION aimed at French people. Now, granted, many of the stereotypes (gorgeous fashion great food ruined economy expensive toilets) are actually true, but some are not. So, you racist high schoolers, make fun of us. We are unflappable. Yeah, we're taking a language which isn't especially useful in the day to day sense, but consider:

1) French is the language of love. We have a built-in advantage in seduction. All we have to say is 'Bonjourrr,' and people interpret it as 'I am smart and ridiculously sexy.' HA, Spanish won't do that for you, and German would be more likely to get you a punch in the face.

2) All those amazing novels and poetry? Written by the French. And they're even better when read in French. Camus actually makes slightly more sense!

3) Yeah, it's nice to travel anywhere, but with French you can go to Paris! The city of cities! Or you can go to Vietnam or Africa or Canada! Anywhere your heart desires, your dream will come true.

4)When studying the French Revolution in a class of Spanish speakers (cough AP Euro cough), it gives you the right to make fun of those students and teacher absolutely SLAUGHTERING the French language. I mean, how many ways can you say 'Jacobins' before it is impossible to keep the laughter in. And I am always puzzled with the difficulty with 'Francois'. Granted, my accent is certainly not perfect, but compared to English, French is a walk in the park to pronounce.

5) Finalement, la nourriture! C'est magnifique! Les crepes, la clafoutis, le fromage...So much!

SO. ENJOY THIS WEEK. ALL OF US FRENCH KIDS WILL. AND YOU ARE REQUIRED TO BE HAPPY IF WE ARE.
Believe me, it's rare that you see me smiling in the halls. Enjoy it while it lasts ;)

Here's some laughable points for you:

"Bouillabaisse is only good because cooked by the French, who, if they cared to try, could produce an excellent and nutritious substitute out of cigar stumps and empty matchboxes."

How many Frenchmen does it take to change a light bulb?
One. He holds the bulb and all of Europe revolves around him.

An old saying: Raise your right hand if you like the French.... Raise both hands if you are French.

Say, Say, Say

I think I can vocalize the thoughts of just about everyone reading this with a single statement: It's been a tough week.

I am, essentially, dead: emotionally, physically, mentally, etc.

So it was a great relief and comfort to me Thursday night when I discovered a certain musician whose soft, optimistic voice had me wondering why Colbie Callait ever became famous with talent like this lurking all over Youtube. In fact, Kesang Marstrand (BEST NAME, btw) popped up on my Melody Gardot Pandora radio, and before I had listened to half of "Bodega Rose," I cycled through every single song involving Kesang's voice.

Odd shadows of trees in the park
Claim the darkest dark
While we sleep
Tangled beneath the covers
Tangled in each other
And try to dream deep

Bodega Rose by Kesang Marstrand, directed by J. Wyatt Wilson from Kesang Marstrand on Vimeo.

As whenever I discover a new artist, I spread the word about Kesang to those whom I thought would care the most. Now it's your turn!

My absolute FAVORITE song of all time (for the moment, at least) is "Say, Say, Say," a cover (or as Kesang says it, "a tribute") of Paul McCartney's and Michael Jackson's duet. Now, I personally had no idea that they had ever done a duet, or had even spoken to each other...but you learn something new every day. The original song:



AMAZING video, but below average for the both of them in terms of listenability. Now, force your minds to calm down. Think about a situation in which you were hurt by someone. Slow your heart, switch your ears from pop mode to smooth, sultry Norah Jones' style, and give it a listen.



While the first song, "Bodega Rose," appealed to my melodic sensibilities the most, this song has those lyrics which just stick. They're like glitter. Once you apply it, it will never disappear. You will always find glitter on that outfit you wore that night. Every time you are hurt, the refrain of this song, with its repetition and simple rhymes, will push you to those tears which are floating so near the surface of your eyes. They certainly are not drying, as Kesang sings.

The song offers no solution. You are left to deal with your own grief. The only thing the song asks is for closure, actually. The singer, the listener, all one wants is a truth of some sort. Of course it will sting. Of course it will fester, burn, hurt terribly. But all that will pass. However, the song has to be finished. It ends with an incomplete arpeggio, leaving it open for you to answer the question, be what it may.

So, take a deep breath and face your fears. Then, realize that your emotions are mirrored in the lives of the majority of the 7 billion people on this earth. If anything is a failure, than it's the fact that humanity was made to feel so deeply. But imagine a life without those intense emotions. You would have nothing. It would be an endless night, a Bodega rose.

Disclaimer: Life is truly as cliché as I just made it out to be. Deal with it.

Why I Write

This is an essay I wrote for a writing scholarship. Feedback, please?

I fell in love with the Nancy Drew series as a second grader. I could barely go to the bathroom by myself, yet I worked through the fifty book series, imagining myself as the crime fighting heroine. Somehow, I realized early on that I was not destined to fight crime and solve mysteries; I cried at the sound of a lawn mower, actually. Not the greatest background for a fearless leader. Instead, I started to dream of writing stories, of creating that perfect character which all my readers would aspire to be like, of becoming an inspiration to frightened little girls like myself. Carolyn Keene replaced Nancy Drew as my muse.

But, all things must end sooner or later. It was fifth grade for me. I had written my own little stories, “Harold the Ant”, “Haley Evelyno: the founder of Tabasco and Bayous in Louisiana”, and I had even written a poem about Biblical characters all stuck on Noah’s ark together. I had destroyed the ring with Frodo, fought the White Witch with Aslan, and ridden Black Beauty over and over again amongst the rolling hills of my imagination. However, despite all this positive reinforcement from places other than Nancy’s little blue convertible, I was devastated when my older sister abruptly informed me that Carolyn Keene did not, in fact, exist; she was actually manifested in many ghost writers all working together for a large corporation.

And that was when I decided that I was destined to be a writer, to transform writing from a money-making company-led pursuit into an artistic and stimulating mission. Scoot over, Shakespeare! I would be better than ‘Carolyn Keene’; I would create a world just as amazing as Nancy Drew’s, but all by myself without relying on another person’s originality. I would bake the cake AND frost it AND consume it, all in one fell swoop.

However, though I always put ‘author’ as my future career on the questionnaires I had to fill out as a middle-schooler, I never actually wrote anything outside of school. Sure, I could write great stories, but I had to have a topic to follow, or else I hit the speed bump before even turning the ignition. Finally, in high school, I had an English teacher who saw in me something different. He gave me rather good grades for my analytical writing, and equally appropriate grades for my rhetorical arguments. As my physics grade dropped, my English grade soared, and I finally saw writing as an outlet into which I could pour all my accumulated emotions from other areas of my life. I took a creative writing class and received the same encouragement. I began to write constantly, criticizing society, books, music, film, politics, people, etc., even sacrificing math problems once in a while to update my highly successful blogs. I write to escape from the demands of my baby brother, the stress of my friends, even [secret] the demands of my mother. I am always busy writing, and from experience, I know that I work much better when I keep busy. Writing has become my lifesaver, the activity to which I devote much of my free time. I would never even consider giving it up; I would not be able to function. The incentive of hearing praise and seeing my writing published is exhilarating, but I am truly happiest when in the midst of an eye-opening analysis. This is what writing has given to me; the least I can do is to continue to write, to give others the opportunity to be inspired in the same way.

Life Happens.

People annoy me.
Yes, that probably means you.
And you, and you, and you.

This year was not supposed to be stressful. I was supposed to coast through my classes, have a real social life, finish all my college applications early, record an album, find the cure to cancer, write a best-selling novel, and learn how to underwater basket-weave.

FAT CHANCE

SO, I'm at the same place I was last year, minus physics and before-school classes, plus a license and emotional issues.
And why do you care?
Ehhh, you probably don't, really.

And so, continuing my several week tradition of list-making (OBSESSION), here's a list of things that have made my life bearable over the past several weeks which also do not include the people who annoy me (yes, YOU!).

1) Knit a scarf. Stylish (at least...sometimes), cheap, and very relaxing. Yes, I do knit from time to time. I'm pretty much a grandmother in a gorgeous young girl's body ;)

2) The Cat Empire. This Australian band of wonder has never failed to make me feel ecstatic. I recommend instantly youtubing them. Like, NOW. Actually, I'll force you to hear them...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtFxo4mpiKg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Vonv8oO6ak&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfl9Zc2Dtok&feature=related

3) Facebook chat. Yeah, it's supposed to be counterproductive, but for a writing mind like mine, having a typed conversation gets the creative juices flowing. There is a drawback, though. Ten minutes on the computer can turn into several hours, depending on how interesting the conversation [cough...person] on the other end happens to be. This can also be dicey, because by talking to one person, you are subject to being attacked by the other 100+ friends who are online, of which there are only maybe 3 that you actually want to talk to...

4) Baby brother. Get one, asap. Always good for a free hug, hair-pulling, and, if you're lucky, a half-eaten cupcake.

5)Piano. Busting out with Beethoven's Concerto in C Major is extraordinarily soothing, y'all.

6) Movies with cheesy romantic plots. Try Notting Hill or Sleepless in Seattle. If you're really adventurous, try a black and white movie: Casablanca, It Happened One Night, Marx Brothers. You need popcorn and/or hot chocolate for this as well, and some sort of blanket or cushioney pillow/person.

7) Public Library. Browse through the CD's and DVD's. Pick out something you've never heard of before. Catch the eye of the guy rooting through the Desperate Housewives collection. Then head to the books, and pick out a decidedly non-classic. Not only will you feel better about your writing skills, but the sordid sex and graphic violence will intoxicate you into forgetting your own awful failure of a life.

8) Bubble tea, frozen yogurt, or peanut butter. Bubble tea, in case you don't know, is a wonderful Thai creation which consists of a tea smoothie (I recommend a chai blend or green tea) with huge tapioca pearls at the bottom which you suck up with an oversized straw. In other words, heaven. For frozen yogurt, drive down the street and you'll find one eventually. Peanut butter with chocolate, or Nutella. Spread on Nilla wafers. A big glass of two percent milk...dip them in, and, a soggy masterpiece.

9)Photography. Go take pictures of yourself. (but not THAT kind of picture...) Take pictures of nature, animals, small children, sidewalks, pencil shavings, grocery stores, headphones, tree bark, screwdrivers, iron clubs, shoes, other photos, roadkill, you get the point.

10) and the most soothing option? DRAW PICTURES. Apocalypses are the best. You can include all of your least favorite teachers getting blown up or hit by monster trucks, or your ex-boyfriend getting mauled by sharks or bears, or your high school getting attacked by North Korean nuclear bombs, or everyone getting sucked into a whirlpool except you and Johnny Depp. Ahh, I have revealed the secret of how I survive calculus class...

Or, you know, you could be productive and finish that essay, or math problem, or powerpoint.
But where's the fun in that?

How to be a Beastly Test-taker

Goodness. It's been several weeks since my last post, so in order to recapture my dear readers' attentions and perhaps convince several others to become faithful followers, I will be instructing you in the fine art of test-taking. Specifically, you juniors, how to ace the PSAT tomorrow. IF you ace the PSAT, you will be receiving at least five college letters per day, with an average of one full scholarship a week. Unfortunately, these scholarships are to schools like OU,Kings' College, University of Nebraska, and itty-bitty Methodist all-girls' schools in the middle of Iowa. Now, some of these might stir your innermost dreams, but really, I would appreciate a letter from Harvard or Yale a bit more...

Anyways, it's good to be recognized, and if you go to Lynch, then you're also treated to a breakfast complete with cake and a little flag with your name on it. Very much worth the extra effort.

Here are some tips that you will not regret following:

1) Sleep a bit. If you don't, then that impromptu nap you indulge in during that fascinating critical reading section(astronomical observations about the innermost ring of Saturn definitely has been my favorite) might result in some slobbering that will smudge your answers.

2) Eat breakfast. Otherwise everyone in your testing room will hate you by the end of the four hours after listening to your stomach growl incessantly. Believe me, I could have boosted my score by at least three or four points if not for the distractions from my fellow test-takers' bodily noises.

3) Drink coffee. This especially helps if you ignore step 1. However, either make sure you have a strong bladder or abstain from more than one cup. Calculating the weight of twenty-three storage bins full of confetti is much more difficult when a much heavier load is sitting in your bladder. Just fyi-ing all that obvious stuff.

4) Get assigned to a classroom with a cool teacher. Yes, I realize this is not technically under your control, but use some telepathic skills to communicate your wish to your counselor. Perhaps it'll work if you're REALLY as smart as you pretend to be. Anyways, with a cool teacher you can skip most or all of the hour set aside for teaching you how to bubble in circles and spell your name, and instead you can just take the damn test already.

5) Bring a calculator. "All of the problems on this test can be completed without a calculator." Yeah, RIGHT. SURE. If you can multiply 1327.5 times 6 to the fourth power within the 25 minutes set aside for the math section with time left over to do the other 20+ problems, then I hope you plan on applying to MIT (which most definitely DOES NOT stand for the Massachusetts Institute of Theatre).

6)Don't sit in an uneven desk. A recent study has shown that a wobbly desk psychologically screws with your head, and as your desk vibrates, your head mixes up all the information, creating a big alphabet number soup that translates onto the page as eraser marks and lost hope. Seriously.

7) Don't get a song stuck in your head before the test unless it's a catchy math tune that helped you to memorize the equations for semi-circles and twenty-two sided figures. Oh wait. They provide all the equations anyways. Way to waste time, dude.
Here, I'll help you give your opponents an advantage:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hgkHd6eBfoE&feature=related
Good luck with those problems!

8) Guess only if you can eliminate one or more answers, and therefore, one or more percent of the 1.5 million students taking the test. Duh.

9) Be smart. If you're not, then you're sunk. Blame your parents, you inherited a good portion of their intelligence.

10) Remember, even when you're being bullied for your glasses or made fun of for breaking the curve, just remember, it's cool to be smart. Look at me.
'Nuff said.

The Piñata

The candy falls out of the broken Dora the Explorer piñata and the exuberant children push and shove to get to it first. The proud parents look on, viewing the savagery with pleasure, each thinking of their child as the next Babe Ruth or Muhammad Ali.

However, one little girl stands on the sidelines, tears rolling down her face. Her mother and best friend rush over, simultaneously offering the girl Kleenexes, pawfuls of candy, and questions.

“What’s wrong?”
“You want some candy?”
“Is it time to go home?”

The girl nods at the last question and wordlessly follows her mother who apologizes and thanks the host. The girl, with a dripping tissue, sops up the tears still falling freely. The other children stare at her as she and her mother leave.

As they drive home, the mother peppers her daughter with questions, receiving silence and muffled sobs in return. The anxious mother phones the doctor and the girl’s father, who both tell the mother to relax. For the rest of the day, the girl cradles her dolls and stuffed giraffe, soaking their cloth bodies with tears. The mother, seeking to consol her baby, offers her chocolate and other sweets, which are all refused.

Finally, during dinner, the girl breaks down completely. Puzzled and close to hysteria herself, the mother picks up her daughter and nearly screams, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

To this the little girl replies, “Mommy, didn’t the dolly have a heart? Didn’t we break the dolly’s heart?”

Don't be Blue on Black and White Day: Tips for Homecoming

IN a few weeks, high schools will kick off that wonderfully wacky tradition called Homecoming.
Why it is called Homecoming escapes my linguistic brain, for rarely do any alumnus show up at the actual football game, and never do any show up to the grind...whoops, I meant 'dance'.
Anyways, many of you manly men are probably wondering WHOM you should ask, HOW you should ask, and WHAT you should do to make that certain girl say yes.

Leave it up to me, mes amis. I. am. the. Homecoming. Helper.

Now, you may be thinking, "How is this stupid blogger qualified to tell me what to do for Homecoming?" If you're still reading this, you just answered your own question. You are probably a confused, pubescent young boy, lovestruck but with less social grace than a worm. BUT AFTER READING THIS, YOU WILL BE A GLOWWORM.

I am qualified because I happen to be a female who would actually appreciates and enjoys when guys profess their undying love to me, no matter whether you're hunky footballer, tall basketballer, cool skateboarder, melodious choir member, nerdy chess club manager, short wrestler, smooth swimmer, brave band member, etc. etc. so on and so forth. Now, granted, professions of undying love come rarely these days, and not only to me. There seems to be more fear circulating nowadays that that girl will turn you down and then go blog about it or post a Facebook message making fun of you or send you nasty texts afterwards. Get over yourself. If she tells you to f#$% off, then seriously, tell her to go douse herself in antifreeze and visit Alaska. See how that works for her.
Honestly, I am all for going back to hippie-times, if only for the free love available from everyone! Seriously, I would support the legalization of certain illegal substances if it got men down on their knees proposing in the hallways of school. I mean, at least that would be worth a good laugh during passing period.

Anyways, we all need love of some sort. So why not start with Homecoming?
1) DO give her flowers or chocolate or something pretty and girly when you ask. I mean, who doesn't want to carry around decomposing pink things all day or gorge themselves on chocolate so they can have an excuse to get a new dress for homecoming!? I mean, I don't, but I'm probably the exception. I gorge myself on chocolate often enough anyways...

2) IF you don't follow step 1, then DO ask her in a creative way. Like bribe a teacher to put an extra question at the end of a scantron: "Suzy Cream-Cheese, will you go to Homecoming with me?" Then she will scream/gasp/faint/throw up/smile/gag and no vocal answer is required! Or, if you are one of those rare males that actually enjoys conversation, just bring it up one day in random conversation. No big deal.

3)IF no other date presents itself, ask a best friend or a complete stranger. A best friend will not judge the color of your tux, and a complete stranger has no idea who the hell you are, so no fear. Just be careful who you pick up off the street, especially in the area surrounding Lynch, cause you don't want to end up with a Bryan Adams' girl...

4)DON'T ask over Facebook, text message, and preferably not a phone call either. Face to face leads to cheek to cheek. Trust me on this. But it doesn't really matter. So, for chrissake, just get it over with.

5)ASK her if she actually wants a stupid mum. Those things weigh more than most girls do, especially if the girl is a freshmen.(I swear, those kids get smaller every year!) Save some money and take her out somewhere really nice. But not an uber-classy place, cause we all know that Homecoming dresses are made to revel in their slittiness, not in their sophistication. When all else fails, go to Chili's (but not if you're in a group with me; I hate Chili's).

6)DON'T invite a freshman if you are a senior, or a senior if you are a freshman. (I'd like to meet the freshman who would do that. Shoot me an email.) Wait for college to bridge age-levels. Right now, try to avoid that evolutionary urge to prey on younger generations.

7)DON'T grind at the dance. Nobody wants to see that. Get a room. Thanks.

8)DO make a note of the color of her dress. This will come in handy if you end up marrying her. Otherwise, you'll be like this couple:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sISWPzEqHLQ

9)DO serenade her. It's every girl's dream. And by that, I mean my dream. And if you can't sing, don't attempt to unless you like getting laughed at.

10) Finally, DON'T take this as the final word on Homecoming. Unless you're planning on asking me. Then you should.

ENJOY!!!

The Morality of Disgust

This past Sunday, in the Dallas Morning News Points section, Drake Bennett wrote an insightful and intriguing article about human nature and disgust: is it present from birth? or do we learn to abhor certain people, places, and things? is it based on our moral values? or are we too judgmental?

Try this: Would you rather drink a glass of water into which a sterilized cockroach has been dropped, eat a piece of chocolate fudge shaped like a dog turd, or wear a freshly-washed sweater which was previously worn by Adolf Hitler?

None of the above? You're normal.

Nothing is innately wrong with any of the above three situations. None of them are morally wrong. None of them carry any danger. And yet most people would reject every single one.

Of course, there are the oft-quoted observations - people who wash their hands feel less guilt, judging in an ugly or smelly room make judges harsher, stronger verbs or adjectives turn people off (take vs. borrow, always vs. sometimes), and more.

There is no escape from chronic gullibility. We are all subject to it. But be encouraged. In the article, Bennett brings up a situation of 50 years ago, when many white people were 'disgusted' if they thought of drinking from a water fountain reserved for black people. Today, you will be hard-pressed to find half as many, or even a quarter as many people who would even care.

So, the next time you feel superior or stick out your tongue or hold your nose for a harmless situation, think about why. Good luck finding a reason.

A Boycott of Facebook a.k.a. Redefining My Life in One Week

From Monday to Monday, August 30-September 6, I have vowed not to let my fingers type in my username and password to enter that cyberworld of social interaction, instant chat, and awful surveys, known more commonly as Facebook.

I am a bit of an addict. I usually update my status once a day and have officially liked 305 different topics (musicians, hobbies, movies, books, etc. so I guess I could simply be considered more cultured with more diverse interests than anyone else...). Especially during the school year, much of my social interaction outside of school consists of having conversations through Facebook chat or posting on other people's walls. So, for me to spend a week away from Facebook definitely impacts some undefined part of my life.

I have stayed away from Facebook for longer than a week before. This summer, there were two different ten day periods where I simply did not have access to a computer. This is different, though. I'm on a computer now, but I cannot scroll up and select the bookmarked Facebook. I have to resist the temptation, and with my addictive personality, an added element - psychological, in fact - is in play.

So, why am I doing this? Does it matter that I'm not checking Facebook for a week? Really, it should not be this big of a deal.

But...I'm applying to eleven colleges right now, I'm taking multiple AP classes, I'm in a bajillion clubs, choirs, not to mention the 29 page piano concerto I have to learn within the next several months. So this is an experiment. If my life drastically improves, if my time-management skills improve, if any of my grades go up, if I get more sleep, etc., then this will be a success. Maybe I'll give up Facebook for two weeks next time, or a month, or even more.

This is a chronicle of my seven days...

DAY ONE:

Not too bad. I actually had my little brother check my Facebook page just to make sure that nobody had anything pressing to tell me. That's not cheating, is it? Well, too late now. I finished my college application schedule, which means all I have to do is actually...apply.
For the next several hours, though, I will be distracted by calculus, European history, and 1984, so don't count on me giving up today!

DAY TWO, THREE, and FOUR :

Thursday now. I'm alive and very well. Giving up Facebook is kind of like giving up chocolate for Lent. The first couple days are hard, but then you realize that you actually only ate chocolate once or twice a week anyways. No big deal. But this experiment has inspired me to maybe change the subject of this blog. Instead of a mix of music, film, literature, politics, etc., I might decide to concentrate instead on giving up some common item for a week...cell phone, ice cream, homework... the options are endless! Stay tuned!

DAY FIVE, SIX :

Yeah. Ditto the above post.

Eat Pray Love. repeat.

As a celebration/mourning exercise commemorating the first day of my last year of high school, I went to see Eat Pray Love at that rip-off wonder known as 'Northpark'. ($10.50 for a ticket? Seriously?)

I am a total SUCKER for romances (unless they were written by Sparks, Nicholas or Steele, Danielle or Meyer, Stephanie). And this was a romance, but without an overabundance of Romance. In fact, Liz Gilbert makes an effort to NOT be romantically involved during her year of world travel. This memoir movie, starring Julia Roberts (who, despite her unpopularity with critics nowadays, still captures the true spirit of her characters while allowing other actors to shine), starts with a woman, newly divorced and affair-ed, who FALLS IN LOVE WITH HER LIFE! She realizes that it is not her marriage that she needs to save, nor her relationship with her boyfriend, but for her own life! Call it selfish, call it unrealistic, call it idealistic, but call it courage. We all need a shot glass of courage every day.
Here are my top five favorite things about this end of the summer flick:

5. The scenery. Especially Bali. Oceans. Mountains. Paradise.

And Italy. The scene in Naples [seems] to capture the city (and pizza!) perfectly. Even the girl who flashed Liz the finger.

And India. Even the scene with the poor children reaching through the windows was completely breathtaking. The architecture is so different from America's straight up and down buildings.

4. The actresses. I adore Julia Roberts. She grows on you a bit. But just watching her versatility, from Pretty Woman to Mona Lisa Smile to Notting Hill to Ocean's to this! She creates the character, but lets everyone else do their stuff too.

Viola Davis as the best friend. A small part, but one that really stood out. Her marriage, unlike Liz's, is perfect. She is married to a fat, balding white guy. She's a gorgeous and curvy black woman. They have a beautiful baby.

The wife of the fortune teller in Bali. Dear LORD. The whole audience laughed every time she appeared, because she always had some smartass remark about Liz finding a man at any cost. Why was it funny? I have no idea.

3. The FOOD. Italy, here I come! Pasta, pizza, gelato. Thre three major food groups!

2. The clothes! Perfect wardrobe for Ms. Roberts, alternating from posh Euro-touristy to saris in India and long, flowing dresses and cute straw hats in Bali.

1. THE ACTORS! Richard Jenkins (Richard the stereotypical Texan) STOLE the movie. That is the ONE thing I am on par with the critics for. His name for Liz was 'Groceries' because she ate so much. He always wore the same funky pair of glasses. And he's a Texan in an Indian ashram. There IS a story behind that.

Billy Crudup is hilarious as Liz's ex. Even in divorce proceedings, he 'made up' a song to convince her to stay with him. At their wedding, he switched out their song for a disco one, then promptly danced along.

James Franco is hot.

Javier Bardem is not hot. But he is alluring. And I envy Julia Roberts and Javier's new wife, Penelope Cruz. And he is probably one of the best actors alive today. Just sayin'.

Go see this movie. It's not overly deep. It's not special-effects stunning. But it will make you aim higher, especially for those of us heading off to college soon. When you consider studying abroad, maybe don't go to a normal place like London or Paris, but somewhere with a non-tourist dominated culture. When you are thinking of marriage, maybe consider whether that person will let you change at all. When you are getting a job, maybe consider if you WANT the job. Not need. WANT. Why waste half your life making money that you will eventually be too old to spend and enjoy anyways? Think about it. Eat Pray Love. That's all you really need, my friends.

Bob, The Column

This was not written by me. But I found it in the latest Writer's Digest (a very good investment, if I may say so myself), and thought that by typing it up, some of the wittiness and allusionary skill might sink into my own cranium. Enjoy!

Hey, you. Yeah, you, Mr. or Ms. Aspiring Professional Arranger of Words in an Interesting and/or Informative Manner Person. Are you fearless? Resilient? Tough? I don't mean recumbent bicycler tough or brow-pierced barista tough or clove cigarette-smoking competitive ballroom dancer tough, I'm talking bring-it-on, hard-as-nails, I-eat-esoteric-synonyms-for-petit-dejuener writer tough. (Think Hemingway, right up till the instant he pulled the trigger. Or Isaac Bashevis Singer on days he was tweaking on crystal meth.)You better be. Because if you plan to make your living by putting some part of yourself (brain, heart, spleen, colon, meniscus, et al.) on the page, you need to be a rock. If you aren't, or if you've chosen, unwisely, to be a softish, non-igneous rock, like sandstone or shale, the criticism that will inevitably come your way could crush and shatter you, something rarely covered by health insurance.

Allow me to illustrate with some reactions to my first book: "Wretchedly execrable." "Wholly deficient." "Delusional." "Mumbo jumbo." Those reviews, thought the kindest I received, still hurt. That they came from, respectively, my biological mom; my adoptive mom; my imaginary friend, Cliff; and Cliff's mom, hurt even more. That the book in question was my personal diary ratcheted the pain up to the stubbing-one's-pinky-toe-while-passing-a-kidney-stone-during-childbirth level. Still, I survived. Literally! And you can, too. (Not a guarantee.)

How? By being psychologically and emotionally prepared for the withering condemnation of your work by the cruel, malicious, heartless, damnable bastards who are kind enough to read it.

Easier said than done, I know. An artistic nature is necessarily one of heightened sensitivity and lowered self-worth. For most of us, a diurnal life of tears and a nocturnal life of night terrors are the price we pay for our talent, though some muses now take Discover Card. But I can help. Before your next (or first) bad review(s), consider these strategies.

1. BE READY TO RESPOND IN KIND...TO THE EXTREME!
Believe me, if more writers answered their critics with, say, a waterboarding, unfavorable reviews would be rarer than undisgraced televangelists.

2. WEAR A CALLUS ON YOUR PSYCHE
Incessantly debase yourself and your abilities; insistently deem your writing "pathetic tripe." It's easy to ignore the slings and arrows of others if you've already gun-shot yourself.

3. WRITE FLAWLESSLY
Elevate every element of your work from excellent to perfect. Remember: The only problem with perfectionism is your imperfect approach to it.

4. SWITCH TO WRITING POETRY
Ain't nobody reads that.

L'eau and Lotti

This week I want to talk about a musician who's a bit...different.
But first, a tale from the land of chiggers and sunburns.
On the second day of our trip, June 11, we went to visit the worksites. It was strictly supposed to be a visit, just to see what all had to be done, so we had permission to wear flip-flops. So, the majority of us wore flip-flops!
FAIL FAIL FAIL etc.
First site. All good. Walked into the church, complimented the architecture, visited the school, complimented the computers.
Second site. All appeared to be good. Saw the church, met the people.
Then we were invited to go see the waterfall which is the water source for the surrounding area! Sounded like fun. Waterfall. Only a short hike.
FAIL FAIL FAIL etc.
Three blisters, five stops under Honduran 'shade', three wet wipies, a whole bottle of Gatorade, climbing, almost falling to my death. Two hours later.
WATER. AGUA. L'EAU. LIFE.
Hawaiian Falls has nothing on this baby.

It was worth the two-hour uphill hike. And even worth the waterless (I drank all the Gatorade, remember?) downhill stroll. But maybe not worth the three blisters, which made shoes uncomfortable for the next eight days. All in the name of sacrifice.

Now for my musician. He's pretty famous. In Europe, at least. Helmut Lotti started out as a Belgian Elvis impersonator.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DfXSvO8nwhs&feature=related

Then he had a stint where African and Latino hits were his thing. THEN he became 'classical'. But though he speaks with an obviously European accent, his singing reminds the listener vaguely of a Southern twang. Andrea Bocelli, country style. Not pleasant, you think?

My favorite sappy Helmut love song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DlxZxSGZw9g

From Wikipedia: Helmut Lotti sings fluently in Dutch and Afrikaans, English, French, German, Russian, Hebrew, Italian, Latin, and Spanish.
Not from Wikipedia: DUDE. SWEET.
His Kind of voice doesn't appeal to me. But his Voice does. Just like Johnny Cash, Helmut is able to appeal to those who aren't originally fans of his genre. Of course, for the best listening experience, watch a live performance on youtube. This 40 year-old singer fails to age. Watch his brown eyes and melt. And a name like Helmut (pronounced hell-moot)? Definitely ranks on my favorite name list.

Compulsory listening: (not the complete song, sadly, but this is my favorite duet on the world wide web.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IIgRle6GMrc&feature=related
By no means am I a Lotti expert quite yet. I can't say I like all of his recordings. His Bohemian Rhapsody was a fail. But, then again, aren't all Bohemian Rhapsodies fails? Barring, of course, Queen's original genius, the Muppets version, and the Ten Tenors masterpiece. And sometimes Helmut goes overboard with the arrangement, or chooses those songs that only work for real opera singers. Caruso is not meant to be sung by romantic swingers.
And to close, my favorite gory Big Band Bobby Darin classic.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7N5A_AL9zZc&feature=related

The Ping-Pong Song

Right now I have an ice-pack around my head, am listening to Shakira and Enrique alternately, and trying not to let the oxycontin I took a few minutes ago get the best of me. Yes, I got my wisdom teeth out today, all four of them, two of which had grown around the nerve of my bottom teeth (don't worry, though! the only side effect of that is possibly having a numb bottom lip for the rest of my life!). Today, I've pretty much been watching movies or sleeping or pretending to sleep. The Darjeeling Limited, with the wonderful Adrien Brody, was the first I watched. It lacks a point, but has that strange factor that makes it enjoyable in a strange way, ya know? Now I'm starting on Bottle Shock, with the actor otherwise known as Snape, another actor otherwise known as Captain Kirk, and finally the actor otherwise known as Meg Ryan's ex-fiance in Sleepless in Seattle. So far I am bored out of my mind. But it's only been 20 minutes or so, so hopefully the movie will improve.
(And for all of you wondering just how bad I'm feeling, I actually have felt no pain except for a nasty caffeine-withdrawal headache...)

Last night, while eating my last chewy food - blueberry pie - I had a moment where I really missed Honduras. Like, seriously close to tears. I missed the ridiculous heat, the not-feeling-guilty for anything, the physical work-out, and the kids, of course.

This post has absolutely no objective. But so many people were curious to see how much pain-killers affect me (and yet none of those said people expressed much sympathy-thanks for the support, guys), that I decided to take a break from my chair and show that I can actually handle the experience.

Or, at least, I think I have...

Honduras. Part Dos.

After an extremely uncomfortable week of mouth ickiness, I am glad to say that I am completely back to normal! (or, at least, whatever passes as normal for me)

First: a blurb from Honduras. Kim, you asked for this. Even though I find this the most amusing episode of probably the whole trip, some may be disturbed (boca burger lovers beware). One morning, while driving to our work sites in a rickety, torn apart (literally) old bus, feeling every bump, smelling every smell, and watching the gorgeous mountains roll by, we passed by a little settlement of houses, a store, you know, the kind of town you are most likely to find in the middle of Kansas. Well, there was a giant pig (GIANT) that we had seen for the last several days just kind of hanging out. (Animals, whenever they weren't scrounging for food, getting kicked, or procreating, liked to stroll across the highway or just sit dangerously close and watch us pass). But, on this singular day, the pig was being dragged around on a rope by its owners. There were a few pieces of equipment around that seemed to harken back to the French Revolution and other violent occurrences, if you catch my drift.
We were returning that afternoon, and guess what! Mr. Pig was on a table. On the bus, we all started laughing, cheering, crying, etc... His owners/murderers looked up and, with their super-sharp machetes and knifes, waved and smiled! It was amusing, in a rather sadistic, anti-PETA, pro-PETA (People who Eat Tasty Animals) sort of way, and re-reading this, you really had to be there to appreciate the humor...


Second: Bastille Day is coming up. Get out your toy guillotines, Edith Piaf records, and crepes. (And maybe stop by and bring me a present, cause like a true Frenchie-ophile, my birthday falls on their Independence Day.)

Honduras. Part Uno.

So, I spent the last ten days in Honduras, on a mission trip organized by the Diocese of Dallas and three of the major Catholic high schools. Instead of writing an extraordinarily long blog post, which nobody would ever finish reading, I decided to break this experience up, so that the "high" I'm on now will last for the whole summer. To start, I will tell you about the iconic moment of the trip (for me).

Keep in mind that I'm not usually this sentimental. But this trip really touched me in a way I have never been touched before.

On June 18, 2010, a twelve or thirteen year old boy changed my life. Or, at least, the next few weeks will show how successful he was. I don't know what his name is. I don't know who his parents are. I don't know anything about him. But, as we (the missionary group) were playing soccer with the Honduran kids in the trashy street right outside the church we were helping to build and improve, this boy started poking me. It was a favorite pastime of the Honduran kids. They would come up behind us and start poking. (I have bruises from that. Those little kids were ridiculously strong. They would mess with the barbed wire and come away with nary a scratch.) Then, suddenly, he stopped. He started talking to me. Well, I take French, so I had no idea what he was saying. So I had trusty Vanessa, our unofficial translator, mediate between this boy and me. He was asking where I was from. Of course, I said Dallas, Texas, and showed him my ID bracelet, where it was written out. He tried pronouncing it several times (Dollah Tejas!) and then he asked me if he could come back with me to Texas. Not as a joke. Not trying to get my guard down so he could tickle me again. But with a completely serious face.

What was I supposed to say?! I shrugged my shoulders, said no, and Vanessa kind of explained to him why he couldn't come. But that occurrence stuck with me. I used it during our reflection circle time, I wrote about it in my essay for the bishop, I told my parents. Those kids, in fact, all of the Honduran people, viewed us as guardian angels. We came from a land of electronics, clean water, fancy clothes, unpopped soccer balls, and red 'juice' (gatorade). I mean, we did plenty of manual labor. But we could have volunteered for Habitat for Humanity and done the same exact things. The difference was the people and what we learned from them. That kid restored all the confidence in myself that I had lost over the course of junior year. He was willing to come with me, a complete stranger, to a different country, for reasons which should be pretty obvious. I learned so much on a simple ten day trip, that I was almost appalled when I got home and saw how many break-ups, hook-ups, movie going, complaining about life, etc. had been going on while I was away. I saw how superficial it all is, and how I had broken free of the superficiality for a while. I'm afraid of going back to the person I was before the trip, but I can feel it creeping up already.

So, I'm going to go pray a rosary. I'm going to finish my geography. I'm going to watch a movie, read a book, listen to music. But, all the while, that little kid will haunt me until I finally do more to help him. God handed me the opportunity this first time. Now, I will go pray. I will do my geography, watch a movie, read a book, listen to my music (which I missed so much!). But that little boy will haunt me until I do more to help him and my brothers and sisters around the world. God has already handed me an opportunity to do something. Now it's my turn to become an independent individual and do even more.

Adios Dallas, Hola Honduras!

On Thursday I depart on the most exciting trip of my life thus far. (I also get to wake up earlier than I ever have in my life...but whatever)
This. is. Honduras.

Yeah, I'm really nervous. No hot water, washing machines, electronics, air conditioning (100 plus degree weather all the time! and we have to wear pants!), fresh produce, movies, etc. But, guess what? We do get to blog! Check out this site to keep up with your favorite person http://geotechexplorers.ning.com/.
I'm looking forward to getting away from home, a bit of a taste of what college life will be like, especially if I get to leave the state as I wish. (I also get to miss the tumultuous process of house renovations, thank the Lord.)

This past school year has undoubtedly been the most stressful, long, ridiculously pointless, and most humbling one yet. Because of that, I definitely need a bit of spiritual, physical, and emotional renewal. Sort of like a St. Ives apricot scrub for the soul. I am also excited to meet and bond with the Bishop Dunne and John Paul II missionaries, not to mention my fellow Lynchies.

However, what I'm most afraid of is not being changed as much as I expect to be. I'm afraid that once I get back to a very comfortable, lazy life in Dallas, I will return to my slothful, selfish, taking-everything-for-granted self. Pray it ain't so.

And I am seriously in need of a bit of spiritual renewal, after being scarred by a year of nonchalance. I quite honestly despise the non-caring Catholic-in-name-only person that I have become, since I had promised myself at every camp, retreat, confession session that I would certainly not become that. Which shows the true weakness of the human spirit. Sigh.

But a bit of optimism is called for. I was looking through the pictures from last on the blog site, and I swear I was almost crying. Seeing the little Honduran kids and the American high school students so obviously bonding really encouraged me.

And, you know, I'll probably be in pretty amazing shape when I get back.
A mission trip to Honduras? A wonderful resume builder, not to mention a great essay topic.
My French-speaking self might actually pick up a bit of Spanish too.

June 10-20. Then I'll be back. Please pray bunches.
See ya.

Summah List o' Literature

Now that summer has arrived, I will have plenty of time to do my favorite thing: read!
To spark your own desire to start a summer booklist(which you might actually use!) I thought I would share mine (or the beginnings of it, at least).


1) A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole: Funnily enough, this book was submitted to a publisher after the author died (suicide). His mother submitted it. And, in keeping with the spirit of do-it-all mothers, this satirical/comedic drama is about a 30 year old obese man who makes his mother do everything. Yes, he has a master's degree, but instead of getting a job, he sits at home and writes history from his point of view. For example, he is a TV addict, yet he blames TV for all of society's problems, wishing that Hroswitha (whoever that is) would come back to life and guide society away from the media. Then he goes and watches some stupid show. Lots of belching, not PG (or even PG-13...) and yet it won a Pulitzer Prize. My brain is excited! (394 pages)


2) A Room with a View by E.M. Forster: A little-known 1908 "Edwardian social comedy" (my favorite genre!) which explores the life of a English woman who falls in love with a possible Socialist in Italy. However, she is promised to a stifling young chap back home in jolly old Surrey. This modern Pocahontas must choose between convention and passion. The great thing about this era of literature is that you never really know which the heroine will choose (or whether she'll commit suicide in a House of Mirth-ish fashion...)(204 pages)


3)A Life Full of Holes by Driss Ben Hamed Charhadi- translated by Paul Bowles: This book doesn't even have a Wikipedia article written about it yet (always check the new book section at your public library!), so I have no idea what to expect. It's a day to day account of the life of Driss - a Moroccan shepherd and trafficker who tries to keep hope. This is also the first novel written in the Arabic dialect Moghrebi. Awful? Probably. Uplifting (at the end,at least)? Hopefully. (295 pages)


4) Sophie's Choice by William Styron: I had heard about this book before, and when I saw it on the library shelf, how could I resist? This is a thriller about a writer who gets to know his neighbors: a brilliant Jew named Nathan and his Polish lover, Sophie, a survivor of the Holocaust. The back cover scared me quite a bit, for it closes with, "And finally Sophie's Choice leads to an unblinking confrontation with what can only be called pure evil." Hmmm...(562 pages)


5) The Turn of the Screw by Henry James: I started reading this in September I believe. I got through about a third of it before the clock struck midnight and the protagonist came face to face with a ghost of a dead person. Scared out of my wits (of course it was thundering outside as well), I gave it up, but, fascinated, I promised myself that I would read it eventually. Eventually has arrived. I will finish it. (113 pages)I adore Henry James even though Paul Johnson (fellow APUSHers) hates him for some reason. Something having to do with James writing about British people even though he is American...and yet dear Paul is the one who wrote the history of America even though he is British...which leads me to my last book[s]!


6) Either The History of the Jews or Intellectuals: From Marx and Tolstoy to Sartre and Chomsky by the aforementioned Paul Johnson: I loved his book on America. It made me laugh...a lot. (He wasn't even trying to be funny, but with phrases like 'regurgitating knowledge', his CONSTANT badmouthing of Henry James, and his beliefs that the pro-life movement is based on violence and that the feminist movement did NOTHING to liberate women, how could I help it?). I want to read more. And what better way to get a laugh than reading about Paul's views on the Holocaust and modern smart people? Yesh, I will have to make a half-price run to get one of these :)

P.S. I am addicted to making lists, so if you would like one of my pre-made booklists, ask and ye shall receive...

Happyyy reading!

Pint-Sized Fred, Sha-Shawty-y

Ahhh. My life now has time to have meaning.

No more physics. No more physics. No more physics.
(well, at least until SAT subject tests next week...)

I be thinkin' that for this post, I might actually stick to a topic (or several).

First off, this last week, while reviewing for my final Inman exam, I was lucky to discover a new amazing talent by the name of Will Thwaites. He's sort of like a "white Lil Wayne" for nerds/literature buffs/white kids who love rap/all of the above (me).
Listening to "Daisy's Lullaby", a rap version of the Great(est?) American Novel: The Great Gatsby, made me fall in love with this suburbian rapper with luscious rhymes and sick beats who attends the Great Catholic University: Notre Dame.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RiajdDYYMaA

I pretty much informed everyone I know about this video, but in case I missed you, please watch this. Actually reading the novel will heighten the experience by 7 times 77. I recommend it.

But, as much as I adore this video (I have probably contributed to at least 45 of the 47,000+ views), it was "Remix to the Suburbs" that
a) convinced me to visit Notre Dame
b) convinced me to spend this summer developing my rap skills (need suggestions for a rapper name? haha)
c) made finals week as enjoyable as it could possibly have been
d) made me send off a creeper email to Mister Thwaites himself

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Cg59ob-nFs&feature=related

I also recommend "Blue-Eyed Sunrise" and Will's short videos as well. Checkk him out foshizzle sure.



Next on my list of recommendations is a psychological thriller novel- "The Talented Mr. Ripley" - and all the successive sequels following that. Beware, though. Mr. Ripley is a cold-blooded murderer who is able to rationalize his grotesque acts and convinces you to rationalize them as well. By the end of the first book, I felt sorry for Mr. Ripley and wanted the police to lay off already (I mean, he only killed two people! What's the big deal?). So, if you are mentally unstable, either don't read this book, or avoid people for several weeks following. (I also was nauseous after reading Ripley's Game - numero 3 in the series - Ripley got a bit too involved in the dirty work of the French mafia...) I have yet to see the movie - starring Matt Damon and Jude Law, but my sister assures me it is awful[ly scary].



IN case you want some lighter reading for the summer months, I recommend a delightful murder mystery series which mixes Agatha Christie with a bit of honey and darjeeling. Laura Childs, in her Tea Shop Mysteries, writes a decidedly "chick" book (unlike Patricia Highsmith-author of Ripley's books-who writes decidedly "not chick" books). The one I am reading now, The English Breakfast Murder, has the owner of the Indigo Tea-Shop, Theodosia Browning (amazing name, I know), discover a dead body in the middle of Charleston Bay while she is volunteering at a Save-the-Turtles event. Great, right? My intake of tea has increased exponentially since I started perusing this series. Some titles I recommend: The Teaberry Strangler, Oolong Dead, Chamomile Mourning, and Gunpowder Green. Yes, after reading those nacho-cheesy titles, you are probably thinking that I am kidding about the immense enjoyability of these books.
(P.S. I'm not)

I hope you enjoyed this week's edition of Karen's thoughts. Tune in often, for this summer is going to provide a constant source of blogging inspiration.

The End of Arthropoda

Worms thrive in the dust
Growing fat and contented
Till a bird flies down

Grasshoppers jump high
Ants build their hills all around
Pest Control kills all

Lobsters are pulled fresh
From their normal habitats
Boiled red in a pot

Cockroaches are doomed
Crawling and Creeping around
Crunched under a shoe

Gnats by the fruit bowl
Gnats flying near the compost
Gnats fried by lightbulbs

Though spiders form webs
To capture bothersome flies
They’re flushed anyways

Captivity

Captivity is the burden of humanity, the ropes binding ideas to reality. Captivity is more than a jail cell; it is all of life. Captivity is the cage of a bird or the kennel of a dog. Captivity is the chains that secure Prometheus to his rock. Captivity keeps us from following our dreams.

Captivity is the food we eat, determining our size, and the clothes we wear, determining our appearance. We walk in the shoes of captivity. Captivity tempts us to choose bad over good.

Captivity is the obsession society has with celebrities, alcohol, drugs, passion. Captivity is the reluctance to tear away from the television or Internet.

Captivity knows there is freedom on the other side of the door, but a key is not available. Captivity is fear; fear of bugs, fear of storms, fear of loneliness, fear of people. Captivity is a dark room with no nightlight or moon to shine the light of hope. Captivity is the heart that has been broken and damaged irreparably.

Captivity is the bonds we have with relatives and friends. We feel so obligated to love them that we forget ourselves. Captivity is the awkward conversation with a stranger. Captivity is having a crush on someone else’s date.

Captivity is the bird whose wings have been clipped. Captivity is the lost voice of a singer, the sprain of a dancer, the paralysis of an athlete, the diabetes of a competitive eater, the wrinkles of a model. Captivity is having your dreams crushed time after time. Captivity is the reluctance to try again, in fear that you will fail again.

Captivity is the feeling of helplessness when two cars are about to crash. Captivity is the realization that nothing can change a first impression. Captivity is the sudden consciousness that you really don’t like your friends.

Captivity is a road trip with the whole family. Captivity is being stuck on a full elevator during flu season. Captivity is arriving home after a shopping trip and realizing the security lock is still attached to a sweater. Captivity is sitting at a computer at midnight trying to come up with a thousand words.

Captivity is the tendency of an English teacher to correct a student’s grammar. Captivity is the good book that is impossible to put down or the horrible book that a report is due on tomorrow. Captivity is the show that you can never miss or the Facebook that must always be updated.

Captivity is poverty. No money to travel, to eat at nice restaurants, to buy designer clothes, to go to a concert, to go to college. Captivity is sickness on the first day of spring. Captivity is the lack of talent and lack of motivation to cultivate talent. Pressure to succeed is captivity.

Captivity is hatred, infatuation, zeal, passivity. All we feel, all we are.
However, the opposite of captivity is freedom, and, as we all know, opposites attract.

May the fourth be with you

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...


I don't really like Star Wars. The battle scenes get repetitious, the aliens freak me out, and whenever I see Anakin in the prequel movies, I hear Weird Al singing in my head.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ANmFVXhyAsk

But, still, I am a fan. As long as Luke isn't on screen, I enjoy the original three movies. A lot. (Sadly, I can't repeat that phrase for the new ones).

And here's why:
1) Harrison Ford- (aka Han Solo) my old man crush. If only he wasn't 67...

Epic quotes:
"I've got a bad feeling about this."

Leia: "Why you stuck up, half-witted, scruffy-looking, nerfherder!"
Han: "Who's scruffy looking?"

"Boba Fett? Boba Fett? Where?"

2) Alec Guinness- (aka Obi-Wan Kenobi)one of my dead old man crushes. Amazing actor (just watch The Bridge Over the River Kwai- a war movie I can actually enjoy). He hated the movies though:
"Guinness recounts grudgingly giving an autograph to a young fan who claimed to have watched Star Wars over 100 times, on the condition that the boy promise to stop watching the film, because, as Guinness told him, "this is going to be an ill effect on your life.""

Epic quotes:
"Obi-Wan Kenobi...Obi-Wan...Now, that's a name I've not heard in a long time...a long time."

"The Force will be with you. Always."

"Why do I sense we've picked up another pathetic life-form?"

3) Yoda- (aka Frank Oz, Grover, etc.) I wish I could talk like him without feeling like a complete dweeb. I also have a thing for big pointy ears (Spock...). I watch the prequels just to see him fight with his little lightsaber.



Epic quotes:
"No! Try not. Do, or do not. There is no try."

"Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size do you?"

"Remember, a Jedi's strength flows from the Force. But beware. Anger, fear, aggression. The dark side are they. Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny."

4)Carrie Fisher- (aka Leia) because she's Debbie Reynold and Eddie Fisher's daughter and because of this one line:
"Will someone get this big walking carpet outta my way?"
Her hair is kickass too...

5)Chewbacca- inspired by the same dog Indiana Jones was named after. Big, hairy sweetheart.

Epic quote:
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrgh!"
Obi-Wan: "Let the Wookie win!"
"Grrf."


6) Mini Chewbaccas- (aka Ewoks)I want one. Makes me cry every time when the one striped Ewok is killed...



7) The Millenium Falcon
8) C3PO and R2D2
9) The Garbage Crusher scene
10) Any scene with Jabba the Hutt
11) Jar-Jar Binks
12)George Lucas
13) The awful graphics
14) The original final scene of the very last one; before they decided to put Hayden Christensen in to make it correlate to the prequels...and the change in the party song :(
15) The attempt to make it scientifically viable.
16) Parodies of it
17) Darth Vader's asthma problem
18) The Emperor's electrocution
19) I am your father
20) NOOOOOO
21) The instant classification given to Star Wars fans. You watch Star Wars? Nerd.
22) The wacky fan base
23) Lightsabers and blasters
24) Anachronisms
25) Greedo

etc...

May the fourth be with you.
At least for 24 hours.

Thank you for reading!
Sincerely,
Your Friendly Neighborhood Nerd

Big Feet....Large Shoes

Instead of getting packed for Orlando (I do have 14 more hours anyways...) or cleaning my pigsty of a room (I barely use my bed anymore anyways...), I feel like writing.

Last Friday, we had "Career Day" over at sunny Bishop Lynch, my second home. And while my first home is where my heart is, my second home only has a claim on my brain.

So, after attending a wonderful session on secondary education, in which we decided that only extroverts can be teachers (sucks for me) and that men can, in fact, have children up to the date of their death (unless, of course, they take ether), I went to a session on journalism and document design (aka technical writing blahh). Although this sounds like I'm about to blast another speaker, I'm really not. In fact, I tried to get something out of it. Unfortunately, I would rather be an engineer than a technical writer (and I would rather be a truck driver than an engineer...)

So, the most I got out of it was that I need to have an overall theme to my blog.
As you may have noticed, I don't have an overall theme to my blog because,actually, my overall theme is not to have an overall theme. I shall explain.

Honeyed Apricots is derived from my favorite movie ever. Notting Hill. Yeah, it's no Casablanca or Lord of the Rings or Citizen Kane, but it makes me laugh. And it NEVER gets old. I've seen it nine? ten? times. And it's because of the honeyed apricots scene.

"Would you like something to eat? Something to nibble on? Apricots, soaked in honey? Quite why, no one knows, because it stops them tasting like apricots and makes them taste like honey... and if you wanted honey, you could just... buy honey. Instead of apricots. But nevertheless they're yours if you want them."

So, channeling Kurt Vonnegut, this whole blog is a lie. If you really want some deep philosophical thought, pull out some Jean-Paul Sartre or Camus. If you really want humor, go rent a Marx Brothers movie. If you really want to hear about my life, talk to me. But, if you're reading this, you obviously want to read it.
And that is where the lack of a theme comes in. I don't like apricots. I need the honey flavor.

So instead of going on and on and on even more about the best movie in the world, I invite you to watch it. I will even lend it to you if you ask. It is worth the two hours.
And you will learn why men with big feet...have big shoes and why you should always, always, stop in that travel bookshop (but don't ask for Winnie-the-Pooh).