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The Iowa City Press has an article talking about how student interest in Latin has increased, but Spanish, French, and German still reign supreme in terms of course selections.
The article also contained some fun facts:
"In 2002, the Modern Language Association of America surveyed 2,767 two and four-year institutions nationwide. The results:
• 29,835 students took Latin, compared to 26,146 in 1998.
• Nationally, about 3 percent of all foreign language students take Latin."
Once again, my humble high school is ahead of the trend, with 5 full classes (75+ kids) of Latin lovers.
Of course, it's Iowa--besides Ryan Rinkel over the holidays, I don't know anyone who visits, let alone lives in, ye olde Hawkeye State.
Thanksgiving break--by the numbers:
The length of X-2:
134 minutes
The length of Sinbad (the animated version):
84 minutes
Ratio of the average cost of a 1996 Volvo to the money I currently have:
6:1
The average amount of time I slept each night:
11 hours
The amount of photographs randomly taken of objects in my room:
7
The amount of time it took to eat Thanksgiving dinner:
30 minutes
The amount of time I spent looking for my wallet, which I still can't find:
3 1/2 hours
How often I went to the mall:
5 times
How often I went to Third Place:
3 times
Time spent playing the piano:
1 hour, 20 minutes
Pieces of pie that I ate:
3
Cups of coffee that I drank:
0 (I beat the addiction!)
Hours I spent at rehearsal:
0
In all, terribly boring. In retrospect, it was good to relax. I sort of forget the rest of the break...it all happened so quickly.
Today's fun Politick news comes from the depths of the Conservative world.
For a GoPo interest group "to watch", I've decided to pick the Eagle Forum, an uber-conservative group that's focus is on promoting 'the family'. My group OPPOSES such things as:
--sex education
--abortion
--United States involvement with the United Nations
--gay and lesbian rights
--environmental protection efforts
--pornography
--bilingual education
--multiculturalism and diversity education
--immigration
Sheesh. Pretty soon they'll be opposing food and shelter.
They've also published videos, like “Crisis in the Classroom,” a video on “hidden agendas” in public schools, and “Radical Feminism,” a video which outlines the "destructive force of feminism".
Finally, the group is led by Phyllis Schlafly (that's Shlaff-lee), who could certainly give Ann Coutler a run for her radical conservative money. My favorite Schlafly quote:
“Abolishing the Department of Education was one of Ronald Reagan's campaign promises when he ran for President in 1980. Fulfilling that promise is long overdue, and the time to do it is now…The goal [in public schools] is clearly to infuse the gay/lesbian propaganda into every level of school: every grade K through 12, every academic subject, and every school and social activity."
-September 1995
That quote rather speaks for itself. If you agree with it, feel free to respond in the provided Chatterbox.
All information taken from the official People for the American Way website.
Awww man, I'm gonna have some fun with this....
Ahhh lunch with Angela...it was a "date". We discussed relationships, etiquette, and ITB people. There was a "funny looking cute boy", and our waiter was from Kinston, NC--not Latvia.
We also utilized the slickness of the California Pizza Kitchen's table to engage in a game of hockey--a quarter was the puck, and our (albeit clean) forks were the sticks. It was better than air hockey. I highly recommend anything of that sort.
Afterwards, I went to Barnes and Noble for two hours, because my father couldn't pick me up--it was fun, though. I looked at everything from Japanese paintings to British tabloids to something about the scandals of the pope--I'm not quite sure what that was, heh.
No no no I am tired of all of this, the downward spiral where I feel sorry for myself and then expect everyone else to, as well. It is not good for anyone; I am drawing you into my problems which are petty and foolish to begin with, and then I expect some sort of outpouring of your emotions. But it should not occur.
Because I am coming in second, or third, or fourth, to so many other things...a coincidence of prior obligations...
And soon everything will be alright, and I will go back to normal...wondering how I ever could think such angry thoughts about myself.
Love love love! Spread love!
I'm counting the concepts
the claims, the reports
pushing the boundaries
with olympian sport
five servings of fruits
three servings of grain
three servings of vegetables
is always quite plain
the words you say
the lies you tell
the gossip you spread
is not making me well
sail away to the edge of the world
perhaps you will find the lock
and lose the key, O precious dear
you will have quite a shock
no wishes from your friends
no tidings, no mourn
they pretend to be happy
but only feel scorn
alas, thus despair, my darling, my dear
forsworn to be valiant and strong
for whether the weather
whatever it's nether
perchance you will find it's all gone.
--Me, written on a lark
I think I may enjoy being sad and paranoid and jealous; this is not healthy. Ahh well. Life goes on, and if I make enough people happy, perhaps it will radiate back to myself.
Tooled around a bit with my school picture. I think I look much better as a redhead, don't you?
I apologize for the image quality; it's quite blurry and I'm not sure why. Also, my eyebrows are two different colors--I'm not quite sure how that happened.
In other news, I'm spending Thanksgiving with my immediate family, and baking lots of pies. Yummm.
Apparently, the Democratic presidential debate on Monday was horrible...horribly funny!
According to a Byron York review which I stole from Mrs.Newmark's Blog, Howard Dean once again emerged ahead of the other candidates. Some highlights:
"At one point in the spin session after Monday's Democratic presidential debate in Iowa, Rep. Dick Gephardt referred to something he called 'non same-sex marriage.' By that, he apparently meant what other people refer to simply as 'marriage.' "
"North Carolina Sen. John Edwards said his answer to the marriage question 'has been very straightforward' "
"The subject Edwards wanted to address was the Democratic candidates' tendency to attack each other. 'Democrats are all at each other's throats,' Edwards said. 'People are tired of listening to politicians yell at each other.' Edwards urged Democrats to offer 'a positive, optimistic, uplifting vision for this country' — and devote their real energies to attacking George W. Bush."
"...'We're in a mess in Iraq,' Clark continued. 'I've got a plan, and I'll get us out of that mess.' Unfortunately, Clark did not say what the plan was."
Nice job, guys. Howard Dean will triumph.
....momtartin=hot....
John Haywood and I amused each other by telling an obtuse excess of garbroth. Our conversation progressed into a discussion about one of our middle school buddies....
youknowwho417: because he's...hot. not really.
youknowwho417: i don't think he bathes.
JtotheBH: good niether do i or anyone else on earth
youknowwho417: i take 11 showers a day.
JtotheBH: sweet, I DONT
youknowwho417: they installed a shower at school. i use that sometimes.
JtotheBH: si ck
JtotheBH: i bet its not sick crusty
youknowwho417: no, but sometimes i accidentally run into people with the same idea.
youknowwho417: then, it's a bit awkward.
youknowwho417: especially if it's an ex boyfriend or something, ya know....apparently the rchs showers are the happenin' place to be.
JtotheBH: oh sweet, McCall BraNson?
JtotheBH: haha
JtotheBH: HART UHL????????????????
youknowwho417: Hart?
JtotheBH: are you gay?
youknowwho417: no, i'm not.
youknowwho417: are you?
JtotheBH: yeah you know
youknowwho417: well, you never know...
JtotheBH: you do now
youknowwho417: i'm sure.
I walked to Krispy Kreme with Maddy today. We were hollered at by a mysterious blue Volvo, got offered a ride from Lucas's dad, picked flowers for our many many loved ones, and watched the winter play auditions. I was surprised to see many people there.
Auditions have become amusing to watch. I enjoy casting the roles in my head.
I see no resemblence whatsoever between my mommy and I.
Well, ok, maybe the nose somewhat. But I've been told that the majority of my facial features come from my grandfather, a stout man with a large nose and toupee.
Here are sampling of my favorite responses from an away message posted previously this evening on IM:
StevenusUltimus: rah rah! biff boom bah! goooooOOOOOOOOOO BETHANY!!!
Auto response from StevenusUltimus: feeling loved. <3
GoPo project, leave a message cheering me on!
StevenusUltimus: :-D
Auto response from elevenknives: feeling loved. <3
GoPo project, leave a message cheering me on!
elevenknives: you can do it bethany! you can do it all night long, but you'll probly be done before then!!
cooluhl6965: wait...y do u feel loved?
Auto response from cooluhl6965: feeling loved. <3
GoPo project, leave a message cheering me on!
cooluhl6965: i dont get it
The GoPo essay was incredibly easy, I thought. It took a few hours, but that was interspersed between phone calls and laundry and chocolate cake.
I miss Louisa. She should definitely come to North Cakalacky for Thanksgiving.
According to Mark Twain, if you're a man trapped in a burning building, this is the order of the people you should rescue:
"1. Fiancees.
2. Persons toward whom the operator feels a tender sentiment, but has not yet declared himself.
3. Sisters
4. Stepsisters
5. Nieces
6. First Cousins
7. Cripples
8. Second Cousins
9. Invalids
10. Young lady relations by marriage
11. Third cousins, and young lady friends of the family
12. The unclassified"
"The unclassified"....like cats and babies.
Also, Happy Birthday to Harpo Marx, the hottest (and certainly funniest) Marx brother, who turns 115 today.
I highly recommend watching some Marx Brothers, especially Duck Soup, because it will improve your life in so so many ways!
I don't know what to believe anymore. People tend to overanalyze everything--I overanalyze everything myself--and as a result depict it in a less than favoring light. Personally, they delve into my inner nature, one of jealousy and cynicism and doubt.
I have so much distrust in myself, that it spreads across the boundaries over my mind, and envelopes my perceptions of people. This is certainly unsatisfactory--here I am, negatively viewing individuals who deserve the highest degree of respect. And yet, the relationship between so many of us is such that it refuses to be perceived as comfortable.
Also, I get tired of everyone thinking I'm naive, ditzy, and spastic. Think what you want. I just wish I understood why you would judge me in such am unflattering fashion.
I wrote a story in English that made me shake when I wrote it, because it made me nervous and insecure. It was so personal. I turned it in, and when it was returned, the paper was marked entirely red in an unattractive glaze of pen. Comments included "this has no focus", "there is no clear ending," "you don't seem to clearly understand either point of view". This was Myer talking, but still...I lashed out at his comments that should have usually been commonplace. There is no focus, in anything that I have anymore.
Ah, to recall last year, I was a straight A student, actually in paying show at RLT, had lots of wonderful friends, a stable relationship with a lovely boy. What happened? I seem to have strayed so far from last year's path of confidence and normalcy that I find myself stuck, with no clear intention of any direction in which to go. Situations flicker and change through a spinning cylinder, as if I am watching a crudely designed and animated film of my life. And I increasingly find myself judging my all of my behavior, ("Is this right?" "What the hell am I doing?" "Why do I act like this?" are becoming increasingly common thoughts) though even I don't know what I want anymore.
And so, the schitzophrenic conversation between myself and myself continues, with a Muse on each shoulder giving conflicting advice.
Some people are just waaaaaay too attractive for their own good.
In other news, the Lip has the insanely odd habit of making me hysterical....it's not healthy. I was about to start crying in Art Class...he just never leaves me alone. It will permanently damage me.
People don't tend to be themselves late into the evening, and I know that tomorrow, I will wake up again and wonder how I could have gotten myself once again into this state of mind. Because I am so happy most of the time. Sometimes, though, I get a reality check. And it hurts.
Birthday was definitely a success. I am so so so tired, but wish that I could relive parts of the day forever. I believe that the best part was the beginning, when I got a balloon, and people gave me food and presents and flowers.
I just got home, listened to the Pet Shop Boys for several minutes, then got curious and looked up Britney Spears' new album.
Spears' music consists of a pulsating base, orgasmic breathing, and singing that sounds like a ferret on narcotics. The lyrics continue with such profound statements as,
--"I got dat boom boom that you want"
--"You don't need to touch, just breathe on me"
--"If you don't like it then, (male operatic chorus) la la la la la la la la la!"
--"I just discovered, imagination's taking over, another day without a lover, the more i come to understand the touch of my hand"
The last one, in particular...ewwww.
Several highly intelligent officials speculate where this new generation of childrens' utter lack of intellect has come from...perhaps the capacity for real knowledge has been replaced with throbbing beats and not-so-subtle innuendos.
Though it is pretty catchy.
Theme song? haaaaa. Hee.
I didn't ask why
though he seemed like such a regular guy
He said we could be secret lovers, just him and me
then he joked, "Hey man
you're name isn't Stan, is it?
We should be together"
And he was passionate
I guess I would rate him a nine out of ten
I'd fallen in love
When I've asked
why have I heard I so much
about him being charged
with homophobia and stuff
he just shrugged
--the Pet Shop Boys, The Night I Fell in Love
Politics is like a middle school cafeteria during lunchtime. You'd be surprised how many rumors are true--and how many aren't.
Also, I believe maturity is measured an individual's ability to go beyond the shallow accusations, and act nothing short of cordial to whatever parties may present themself in opposition to fundamental interests.
Let's hope this will all get better soon. I'm not ignoring it all, (it does make me upset) but am determined to not let any of it effect me. The whole situation is petty, and I am tired of it. Stuff like this is straight out of fifth grade.
I'm just a girl,
Guess I'm some kind of freak
'Cause they all sit and stare
With their eyes
I'm just a girl,
Take a good look at me
Just your typical prototype
Oh, I've had it up to here.
--excerpt from No Doubt's Just A Girl. I don't even like No Doubt, but this song was stuck in my head throughout the day.
For English, inspired by Nsync's "Bye Bye Bye":
Rufus K. Humphrinsky had never excelled at confrontations, especially when they involved a lady friend. When he became nervous, Rufus would stumble over his words as the soft consonant sounds mixed together in the blender of mouth and teeth. In addition, Rufus possessed a nasty sweating problem, which even prescription deodorant could not cure. All over his body, Rufus’s pores would overflow with tiny blobs of sweat that would cling to his blazing orange hair. His right eye twitched at the corner, his ankles swelled, and his nostrils bulged, whenever Rufus found himself in an uncomfortable situation.
Because of his excessive mass, Rufus found it difficult to woo women, much less attractive ones. Rufus was unable to sit comfortably in a movie theatre, without spilling over the arm rests. His vast expanse of hairy belly, at least twice the size of Manhattan, would often peek out between the strained ivory buttons of his oxford shirt.
Rufus was unsure of exactly how Charlene would react to his accusation. Alone in their apartment, he waddled across their new shag carpeting with military precision. She wouldn’t take it lightly, that was for sure. Charlene was sure to become flustered; perhaps she would even cry. He absentmindedly wondered who would get to keep their fish.
A key clicked in the lock, a turn to the right, then the door opened. Charlene’s greasy bleached-blonde hair caught the light, and cast a reflection onto Rufus’s face.
Rufus exploded.
“YOU KILLED THE FISH!” Rufus released globules of spit into the stagnant air. “You tried to cover it up! You thought I wouldn’t notice if Bob Dole had three spots on the left side of his dorsal fin, instead of two! What did you do to him!”
Intimidated by the fat angry man before her, Charlene cowered by the microwave. Rufus continued, beginning to subtly enjoy the brusque stream of his rage.
“Three spots! Bob Dole can’t grow spots! He’s dead! You killed him!”
“I….I don’t understand.” Charlene said timidly, her hands still carrying plastic grocery bags full of Kroger tofu, “Rufus, maybe it was a trick of the light…”
“A trick of you is more like it!” Rufus wasn’t even making any sense. His bottom two buttons popped off his shirt suddenly, as if he were a vat of boiling oil threatening to explode. The buttons, iridescent and smooth, flew through the air unnoticed, until they hit the walls of the fish tank. A thirty-gallon tidal wave of filtered water, glass, and cobalt-blue pebbles ravished the apartment. Dozens of tiny fish, all christened after Republican politicians, violently smacked against the walls. In the silence that followed, Rufus and Charlene gaped at the mess for several minutes, though they would not look each other in the eye.
“I can’t take this anymore! I’m leaving!” Rufus suddenly screamed. He gingerly stepped over the gasping bodies of his beloved pets, and reached the door. “Good bye, Charlene!” He announced, and slammed the door. The soles of Rufus’s drenched shoes left faint footprints along the hallway.
Happy Birthday Hannah.
I had an odd dream last night about a boy giving me a math test. In my sleep, I was doing the problems in my head, and thus awoke as if I had never began sleeping in the first place.
I want to go to Yale.
My fortune cookie:
"You need to understand that it is not necessary ti understand, but only enjoy."
A typo and a paradox! What luck!
Birthday on Friday.
I swear, the interconnectedness of human relationships makes no sense whatsoever. My attempts to lead a normal life drag me into an epic battle between a variety of parallel situations. The circus of my life has been squashed into a hula hoop. Perhaps I simply know too many people, and are attracted to their problems with a subtle disregard for my own.
A vacation is in order, but where to go? Perhaps New York...somewhere cold.
I think my family may kill me. I will slowly decompose from all the stress. My mother started ranting angrily to me about how I emotionally attack myself too much. I wonder how I could have acquired that quality.
Kindness, people, kindness! Anger has seldom been the cause of great things. Though it is human nature to become upset, that gives no one an excuse to hate or condescend.
Happy Birthday Bekka.
MyWeatherby: bekka, dear, you are insane.
sWeeTaRt11887: ..i know
MyWeatherby: you worry entirely too much.
MyWeatherby: why don't you go make some thai noodles?
MyWeatherby: it is your birthday!
....
MyWeatherby: make a list of everyone you want to do with those new $20 bills!
sWeeTaRt11887: hahahaha
sWeeTaRt11887: hahahahaha
MyWeatherby: stop worrying about rinkel!
sWeeTaRt11887: everyone i want to do?
MyWeatherby: what?
MyWeatherby: oh, yes.
MyWeatherby: i meant to do that.
sWeeTaRt11887: you did?
MyWeatherby: no.
Tom: 6892
Me: 6936
Ha.
Driven by
sympathy
and an impulse
my mother
drove to
Sam's Club
and bought
me
sixteen
boxes
of Pad Thai noodles.
I think she feels a bit bad my lovely birthday party was cancelled. My parents were making me plan it (I mean, plan EVERYTHING, including buying my own cake), and between planning the winter formal, TAing/ADing two RLT plays at once, becoming terribly frustrated....I couldn't plan my own party.
In Latin, I study for hours (hours!) and somehow manage to get Bs and Cs on tests. In Art, we make insects out of twigs and string, cpmplete with the incessant chatter of the Lip. Between those two classes, I believe I will go insane.
Rachel Ann reads this blog.
So shines a good deed in a weary world.
Much love goes out to her.
Pretty corduroy coat courtesy of J.Crew.
Sooo if anyone with lots of money has some spare change lying around ($198)...although my family and I are beginning to get in fights between shorter intervals. They made me cancel my birthday party because they were angry and tired.
I refuse to have a car with a stick-shift (which, by the way, I have tried to master for hours on end. We just aren't compatabile). Perhaps I am being very stubborn. Ahhh well.
Junk email has taken to a new level, I suppose:
Dear Madam,
Compliments of the season. I do foresee the suprise this letter will bring to you as it comes from a stranger, but be rest assured as it comes with good-will intentions.
Your address was courtesy of a business centre at the World Trade Centre here in the Netherlands. And after due consideration, I became aware and assured of your credibility of handling this trust/transaction. Thus, I took a humble decision to solicit your assistances, understanding and co-operation in this transaction, as it will be beneficial to us.
My name is John Gaby, the personal adviser to the deposed Liberian president, Mr.Charles Taylor, who is currently in the hands of the Nigerian government for protection from the prosecution of the International War Crime Tribunal. Presently I am in The Netherlands, seeking asylum. During my departure from my country, Liberia, Former President Charles Taylor entrusted with me a box containing diamonds and cash of US$13.5 million which he arranged personally...
But now, since, the law of the Netherlands does not allow a refugee to transact a business or have international bank account , the reason why I am seeking your assistance to ensure this consignment is released to you as the new beneficiary...All these consignments are currently in the custody of a reputable security company here in the Netherlands, and you will be required to provide me with your full name, address, telephone/fax, to enable me to apply to the company in your name as the new beneficiary of the consignment, if this proposal is suitable to you.
In this regard, if you agree to my proposal, 5% will be set aside for you during the transaction. I wait to hear from you, and be informed that all communication on this transaction shall be confidential.
Thanks,
John Gaby
I thought it was funny. I want to know how this John Gaby became "aware and assured of my credibility"...maybe he reads my blog. Haaa.
I wish today could be a day of forgetfulness about an otherwise sharp world that continues to ensnare me. Alas, the combined effects of school, family, event planning, and various other social circumstances force me to continue puttering on as always.
Humans constantly live in a state of self doubt, it seems. We always look for the best of everyone, disregarding any red flags in search of red herrings which, consequently, lead us across paths that otherwise would be casually ignored. The proximity we are to others forces us to act socially acceptable during times which would never take place. The uncomfortable formality of it all is what differentiates friends from aquaitances.
Everyone only has a core group of friends, no matter how "popular" they really are. Think about it. Each one of us, in time, has become connected to certain individuals which change us, as we change them, in turn. There are so many other people which I would love to get to know, to become as close to them as I am to the six or seven people whom I am currently thinking of...but time simply does not allow so many connections to be made.
It is encouraging, in one sense, to know that you may feel on the same wavelength with certain people. In other, is disheartening to know that perhaps, you will never have as many friends as you believe.
In the room which I am in, there are three keyboards. I am currently using one. Another is packed away somewhere, in a box. A third has half of its keys missing, and is used as a perch for my cat. All of the keyboards are worth something, but it is only possible for one to be connected to what really matters.
Alright, what is all of this about? Why are people scaring me and telling me that Chris Martin was dead? He certainly isn't, to the extent of my knowledge.
My recital didn't go as well as I had expected, but was excellent under the circumstances. I began playing the Bosendorfer when I realized that it would take much more effort than anticipated in order to effectively produce a fortissimo on the keys. I therefore pressed each key harder than usual, and as a result, my thumb began to throb. At one point early on in the piece, I became flustered and stopped, because of my silly thumb, but only for a moment. My hands tiredly made octave after octave as I strugged to concentrate on nothing but the music, and to separate the steadily pain in my hand from the notes on the page. I tried to compensate somehow by playing the dulce section slower, and the presto (Tempo I) faster, which resulted in some rather invisible chords at the end of the piece that my thumb was too tired to strike. A highlight, however, occured when I struck the black keys at the end of the piece, in a bit of spontaneity that wrapped up the eight long pages.
Casablanca is so beautiful. Rachel and I made a list of decoration ideas. They include monkeys, fezzes, and a bellydancer--though I doubt Dr.Humble will allow such nonsense and tomfoolery to take place at such an event.
I have a piano recital today, and my thumb joint is purple and bruised. I'm playing a Tarantella, and it's supposed to go from presto to prestissimo, but my hand hurts. Eight pages and a sore thumb.
However, I have the privilege to use a Bosendorfer Grand Imperial (!), which has several extra keys, located at the bass end of the piano. They are painted black. I will attempt to both disregard my thumb, and somehow improvisationally incorporate the extra keys into my performance.
Ahhh the joys of arriving home after the sun has set, with no homework complete and two tests on the horizon, cause the lateness of this blog entry to be posted. Apologies.
My right thumb is stagnant upon the space bar, hardly pressing it as my other thumb slowly does all the work. My thumb moves slowly, causing the creases of my fingers to move as well, because it was smashed in a deranged attempt to glide across the floor of the theatre on my belly. It was a needless injury which occured merely because I did not pay attention to my surroundings. I can only hope that you were simply not paying attention yourself.
Yes, I admire your courage to voice your opinions without fear of a rebuttal, or regardless of whom they affect, but it you have gone too far. Perhaps I should be hurt to know that you look upon me with the utmost discontent--not for who I am but what I am. I'm not even a character to you, just a name without a face that affects other people in the oddest of ways. You see, peer influence is too often the stem of needless assumptions and disturbances. If we can recognize the differences, but still appreciate them, the world would be a much happier place.
And heterophobia? Come onnnn. Let's be civil, please.
Gratias ago.
There is an excellent band called The Red West which I had been meaning to link for a long time. Also check out Matt Nathanson , who opens for people like Jump, Little Children, Maroon 5, and Guster--so he is wonderful. Both sites have 4 or 5 songs, which you can minimize and have in constant rotation as you do your blog reading.
Birthday in 9 days. Last year, Carly told me that she would give me a huge present. I think she will forget. We never talk at all--it's rather sad.
I'm applying for a page position with the Governor. A week off from school and $150...it sounds excellent....if I'm accepted, which I'm seriously doubting. Ha ha.
My grades were alright, 4 As and 2 Bs--but they were a 92 and 91, so I'm not terribly upset. So close, yet so far away.
I get nervous at the oddest intervals. For example, I never ever get nervous when I perform, or when I sing--even at auditions. But in GoPo, I say the silliest things, and feel like an idiot when I'm finished. My comments don't even make any sense, and afterwards I beat myself up about them terribly. I'm fine in SLA--why should GoPo be any different? Sometimes, surrounded by the intellectuals of my peers, I feel like such an idiot.
I try too hard. On everything.
Also, I have a problem with memorizing pieces for the piano. It occured to me that many people don't know that I've played for eight years--it hardly shows, because I can't seem to remember music, and therefore have a difficult job playing for others. After hours of practicing, I'll sit down, and my mind goes blank. It's a horrible feeling to feel everyone's eyes upon the back of your neck, while you sit there, trying to comprehend exactly why all the keys suddenly look the same. Sometimes, I get so nervous before recitals, that I can barely breathe. That's why I don't enter too many contests.
In other news, Tom looked good today. So did Mark and McCall, but it was because they got their braces off.
I'm sorry. Things should change. I will make it happen. If Atlas shrugged, so can I.
Haaaa. He's got as many staffers as J.Lo does. And more than the amount of students at Raleigh Charter. I mean, what are you supposed to do with all of those people, anyway? Have a party on the Boeing? Thanks to the 18 1/2 Minute Gap for the link.
Surviving on thirteen hours of sleep has made me extremely cocky. I don't need to do art homework--I've got a 94 in the class, and Dear God, it's art. Life would be sooo much better if I was in Drama.
I just finished writing my English short story, and it was very emotionally taxing. I am exhausted. Waaaay too much homework.
Go go go Howard Dean. He is my man. I must work for his campaign or something.
Thanks to Mrs.Newmark's blog for the link.
Birthday in 10 days.
Yesterday was a good day to put all sorts of problems on the shelf, and completely forget them all. After school, I went to rehearsal, where I had to call everyone in the (25+ people) cast, and give them the new rehearsal schedule. Ahh, the joys of being a secretary.
Then Tom came back, with the infamous Volvo. We ate spaghetti and played piano and watched "Under the Tuscan Sun" at Madstone. I think I have been needing a bit of Tom for a while, and feel much better now.
I got home around midnight, and avoided any sorts of confrontations with my parents by a combination of lies and falling asleep. They wouldn't understand. We have such a twisted relationship, my parents and I. I just woke up now, in fact, after a very odd dream where I was singing a BBMak song with Howard Dean.
I'm supposed to write a short story for English, but my problem is that any story would take an epic novel for me to write. Once, I wrote about how different groups of people in medieval Europe were seeking a light in a tower--it took me fourteen pages to write a 2-3 page paper. Gakk.
I dream in color--Technicolor, that is. All of my dreams are like movies.
I had a dream last night that began with camera shots of me, in a small dark apartment, busily checking newspapers and magazines for house ads. I was determined to buy a house near the ocean, for some reason. I made several calls, asking the realtors for prices, but they were all several million dollars.
Then, as I was calling, Tom came in and asked me if I'd like to go on a bike ride. Exhausted from calling, I agreed. The next scene of a pan shot of me biking around a forest with Tom, and a Chopin nocturne was playing in the background. Then, suddenly, he had to leave. We hid our bicycles in the bushes, so that no one would steal them.
As I waited for Tom to return, I walked to a small stream close to the path, and climbed upon a giant rock. As I struggled to climb down, a saw a spider which I believed to be poisonous, and quickly jumped into the water. Then, I saw a crab, and climbed back onto the rock. This struggle all occured rather quickly.
Next, I saw my parents, walking towards me along a path. I took my bicycle and submerged it in water, so that they wouldn't see it. When they saw me, my parents asked me how the house-hunting was going, and instead of answering them, I distractedly looked across the lake to see a beautiful palace, where a wedding was taking place. The lights from the palace reflected across the water, since the weather had become cloudy.
Then, Tom returned, and my parents left. "I have a surprise for you," he said. Out of his pocket, he pulled out a foam human heart, complete with a medicine company's name on its center. With complete glee, almost jumping up and down, he exclaimed, "Look! Isn't it amazing? It's a stress reliever that doubles as a pincushion!" I thanked him. Then I woke up.
In all, it was very odd.
First of all, this petition claims that Bush's problems stem from an increased amount of sexual tension, and therefore propose that he have an affair with an intern. Who knows? Perhaps they are right.
Also, notice how on the back of the new twenty dollar bills, the money is hiding in the Bushes?
Although that picture isn't very clear, I can't believe no one had thought of that before.
Look, look, the rocks are in love!
My head has been hurting all day, and it worries me. I keep waiting to snap out of it, and to stop hurting, but the pain in my head just increases.
If in the summer of thy bright regard
For one brief season these poor Rhymes shall live
I ask no more, nor think my fate too hard
If other eyes but wintry looks should give;
Nor will I grieve though what I here have writ
O'er burdened Time should drop among the ways,
And to the unremembering dust commit
Beyond the praise and blame of other days:
The song doth pass, but I who sing, remain,
I pluck from Death's own heart a life more deep,
And as the Spring, that dies not, in her train
Doth scatter blossoms for the Winds to reap,
So I, immortal, as I fare along,
Will strew my path with mortal flowers of song.
--William Gay, 1894
I wish it were true.
I am in the mood for When Harry Met Sally. I have always, always wanted to see that movie, because people have recommended it to me again and again, but I haven't yet. So if you own a copy, we must see it together sometime.
I hope that some sort of stability will return to my emotional state, because I seem to be feeling very odd about people lately.
Well, it just seemed like tonight, one person mattered. And I shouldn't care about them at all, but just can't...stop. It's mangling and damaging me, because my unrequited dependence has caused me to face rejection several times over again. I want it to end--it looks tacky and feels worse--but it just incessantly claws at me, never letting go. And the other person has left and here I am, disregarding the social connections I have created for myself in pursuit of an intangible shadow--which is not what I am about.
The frustration of it all makes me desperate for some sort of hope, but now I look like an idiot. If any of you actually figure out what the hell I'm talking about, then you will think I'm insane. I keep returning to an place which has been dead, buried, and is steadily decomposing as I write this. Yet all I can see is the ghost of a camaraderie that will never die.
Because certain things have gone from bad to worse
and I find myself craving the bad.
"Ring of Fire". It even sounds ominous, doesn't it? Well, today in rehearsal, we were supposed to be "expanding our clown work" by playing a little game which was nothing short of Hell.
Basically, the goal is this: Get in the middle of a circle of people, all sitting down--including the Authority, an adult who always must act serious--and get them to all laugh. I mean, every single person in the room must produce a deep, gut-wrenching guffaw.
The first kid went up, and just sat there on the ground, unsure of what to do. He tried to tell a few redneck jokes, but no one really laughed. After about 7 or 8 minutes, he quietly slunk back to his seat, defeated.
I decided, "Hey, I could do better than that!" so I decided to give it a try. I walked to the center of the room, and stared at my feet. "I'm not really sure what to do," I remember myself saying. This was harder than I thought. Over the next 18 (18!)minutes, I did the following....
--Told really bad jokes
--Did an impression of Mrs.Rasnick
--Talked about the Poe Health Center
--Did an impression of Tom (this recieved applause from Adam Patterson, but the Authority said that it wasn't enough)
--Did yoga, and tried to walk with it...or rather, scrape across the floor
--Made sock puppets out of my socks, and had them talk to each other
--Danced
--Sang
--Squeaked, and made other odd noises
--Talked about my teachers, such as "Mr.Coolbaugh" and "Mrs.Rectanus"
--Laughed so hard that I almost choked
Almost everyone had laughed within the first few minutes, but the Authority (Chris, for those of you who know him) said that it wasn't enough. "Why do you keep doing this comedy routine? Only a few people are laughing now. It's gotten old". "I'm sorry," I responded, not quite sure of what to say. He replied, "Well, Amanda hasn't laughed at anything. Make Amanda laugh, and you can sit down."
So I walk over to Amanda Stewart and try everything, but she just sits there, staring at me. Eventually, I'm about to start crying. I don't know how she does it--I'm trying everything, even impersonating pastry chefs, and she keeps simply staring at me. My jokes go from bad to worse. The laughter gradually fades, and the silence which has pocketed itself in between my voice stretches across the room.
The Authority finally says, "Bethany, you fail. Go sit down." I was so angry at myself; I kept thinking Why couldn't I make her laugh? Conceptually, it seemed so easy.
It turned out, I was up there for over twenty five minutes. That's as long as an episode of the Simpsons. It's the time it takes me to get ready in the morning. It's the length of our lunch period. And I had to be up there for it all, trying to make everyone laugh.
Afterwards, I had to go to the dance, where various events occured that made my day even more difficult. But I will rest now, because my head is throbbing.
I wonder why anyone reads this.
Oh, I had just written a beautiful sonnet to the yellow ribbon in my hair, and then, it was all deleted on account of the blind ignorance of Blogger.
Anyway, according to Yahoo News, Dean and Kerry are lashing out against one another after a recent attack. Dean made a statement earlier that he was trying to reach Southerners who drive pickup trucks with Confederate flags, but apologized three days later. Kerry was the first (of perhaps many) to accuse Dean of "lacking principals and flip-flopping on key issues".
Almost immidiately, a Dean spokesperson counterattacked. "It's become increasingly clear that John Kerry is a heck of a lot better at formulating negative attacks than formulating a straightforward position on Iraq," said spokesperson Tricia Enright. She also stated, "To quote John Kerry's favorite philosopher, Yogi Berra, I guess when John Kerry came to the fork in the low road, he took it."
Touché.
The problem Dean was faced with was that he had to pick the lesser of the two evils. Ignoring his statement or apolgizing would have both launched negative attention. It was a tough position, once he got himself into all of this mess, but I believe that Dean's smart enough to get himself out of the issue, and leave it all behind him. Besides, he got lots of media coverage--I like to think that he meant for it all to happen this way.
And I still have no idea what I'm wearing to the dance tomorrow. Everyone must come!
7:30-10:30
North Hills Club
All 80's
All the time.
What a way to begin a conversation.
AutoPilot 198: hey you were in my dream a few nights ago
youknowwho417: hey
youknowwho417: really, what was it about?
AutoPilot 198: i went on a roadtrip with my dad and i went to see a play in exploris and you were there
AutoPilot 198: except you were a pencil with a face drawn on the tip
....
AutoPilot 198: ever since you first walked in on that first day of school in 6th grade
AutoPilot 198: BETHANY I LOVE YOU!
Just wanting to make sure that new colors worked. I'm not sure why I posted that, except that Ken asked me to. And it was sweet of him.
I replaced my eyes with a rather large cat.
I just realized at lunch today that I turn sixteen in scarely more than two weeks. I had sort of forgotten how erm...young I was--in the grand scheme of life, I am still a child. Yet even compared to several days-weeks-months-years ago, I have grown. So I suppose that like everyone else, I merely become a bit wiser every day--that everyone as a whole is constantly growing and maturing. Each day, we get a little larger impression of the world as a whole. And that is certainly an encouraging thought.
In a remedium
the difference is stagnant
darting away
frightened
by the dull humiliation of tedious labor
checkpoints
the angry stupor
harsh uncalled-for scraping
breathing against
the back
of my neck
why is this not perfect?
formerly
unspeakable
parallels
are deduced in the strategy
of constant affections
and manipulations
substitute teaches
trust for hands
and hands for probity
the jarring of wagons
camoflouged
against the
pet
shop
boys
horizon
in its hurtful
natural
craftmanship.
--Me
There will be a Shrek 2. And that makes my day complete.
I love Mutts. They rival Calvin and Hobbes, Get Fuzzy, Liberty Meadows, and Foxtrot as the best comic strip ever.
What happened when Jimmy Fallon was accidentally booked at Thee Dollhouse?
A comic strip.
That's for you, Bernadette. Someday, I will be there for your wedding with Jimmy...hmm.
Today in rehearsal, we all had to work on developing our clown personas.
Well, supposedly, each one of us has a personal clown inside of us that can be developed and nurtured through intense training. So Carmen is trying to work with all of us on our inner clown. It was hard for me at first, but lately, clown work has been getting better.
A clown, in the most basic sense, can never do anything right, but must always try to please an authority figure. They are insanely mischevious, and each one has their own odd quirks which stem from hidden aspects of their actor's personality. Clowns must constantly be searching for approval in their work, and dislike being alone.
So today, after about 30 minutes of getting 'into clown', Carmen asks all of us to find a partner, and crawl to a top of a staircase, with the entire class watching.
Kristin, my partner, and I enter from the back of the stage. I see the platform, and vaguely remember hopping up and down a few times, then running around. I also remember growling. The funny thing is that when one enters their clown state of mind, there is nothing contained within it. My mind was not thinking of anything. It was like someone has taken a vacuum cleaner and sucked out all of my thoughts.
The quest to reach the top of the staircase became a contest, where Kristin picked me up in order to make me lose. I kicked my legs, and flailed my arms until she let me go. Then I promptly jumped over Kristin to reach the top of the stairs, almost falling off the stage in the process.
Next, we were supposed to look up, see the most horrible thing imaginable, and exit. This required me to think, which was difficult in the context. I remember myself breathing loudly, but cannot recall what exactly I did. I remember that I wouldn't turn away from what I was seeing in my mind, which I was watching like one would watch the nightly news on television. It kept replaying in my head as I left. I wanted to cry.
People compared my clown to a puppy, one that is filled with energy and constantly seeking to play with people.
The other exercize involved me entering the theatre, climbing to the top of a platform, seeing my partner--a nice girl named Amanda--for the first time, and interacting with them. My clown ran across the theatre spastically a few times, then scampered up the stairs rather quickly. Once I reached the top of the staircase, I laid down and seductively posed for the class. When my partner reached the top, I licked my lips. I really didn't intend for the entire thing to be sexual, I'm not sure why it occured, though perhaps it stemmed from my increasing amount of sexual tension--whatever that means. Anyway, it was quite funny.
Carmen says that my clown reminds her of Caliban, a deformed monster in The Tempest, and that I am very very aggressive for a clown. I'm not sure what that means. She also went into how I'm comfortable with myself, because I'm willing to "ASM with a bunch of 12 year olds". I must talk with her more about this. Hopefully, it is a good thing, and my clown isn't some spawn of satan or anything.
So now, for some reason, I am horribly tired and do not wish to do much homework.
During the clownwork, Tom picked up a giant black box and threw it at his partner's head. Somehow, I couldn't stop laughing. Much love goes out to him.
Michael Moore is my hero.
Everyone must go
now
to the video store
and rent
Bowling for Columbine.
I stayed up until after 4:00 this morning discussing things with Bernadette and Walt. It's funny how people can analyze you and find what you already knew, but didn't want to admit to yourself. I suppose that just reinforces how silly I am for acting so overly concerned about everything. I can never truly separate myself from other peoples' problems.
I would make a good psychologist, I think, if I could handle it all. I never stop listening to people, though I tend to over-analyze and then miss the point. I could get over that, I think.
I've found that in the last several months, I have shyed away from those blatantly physical girls that sit on each other's laps, play with each other's hair, and the like. It doesn't mean that I'm not outgoing, I just sometimes feel uneasy when people get in any sort of close contact with me. The shyness seems to not fit the personality mold which I have fit myself into, yet I can't seem to discard that uncomfortable feeling. Just a personal observation
and I get stuck between all the things I mean
but I don't think I mean much anyway
--Ben Kweller, Problems
According to Weekly World News, terrorism is a good thing. It allows Americans to be the capitalists that we are.
Here are Six Ways War Can Make Us Rich:
1. Allow gambling on casualties. Let folks wager on how many enemy troops their favorite platoon will kill, just like it was a sports team.
2. Sell ad space on the sides of tanks, planes and aircraft carriers. More people watched Operation Desert Storm on TV than the last Super Bowl. Companies like Coca-Cola would pay through the nose for the exposure.
3. Charge kids in liberated countries for each tank ride. Why should some Iraqi ankle-biter get to ride on an American tank or try on a GI's night-vision goggles without shelling out two bucks?
4. Auction off war trophies. I'd personally pay at least $2,500 apiece for Osama's ears, by jiminy.
5. After every victory, give rich civilians a chance to land on aircraft carriers in a fighter jet, like the president -- but charge 'em $1 million apiece.
6. Make conquered countries fork over tribute, just like in the old days. Iraq and Iran can afford to pay us about $5 billion a year after we liberate them.
Ahhh I just had a good laugh. Now it's time to read some Michael Moore.
Rabbit Rabbit Rabbit.
After recieving my Flex Day assignment, I was tempted to walk with Joel and Danny to Krispy Kreme, hide in the bathroom of the crew bus, and travel to the regatta. It was an entire day about "Diversity and Tolerance".
We had five speakers come in, and were separated into groups of around six people. In retrospect, I must have looked very odd, because there was an NC Equality (a GTBTQ PAC) spokesperson there, and because there were too many uncomfortable pauses, I decided to ask lots of questions. They were basic, too, such as "How would you advise someone who was gay to come out to their friends?" and "How did you realize that you were gay, and how did this affect your life?" I suppose they weren't even good questions, but everyone arched an eyebrow when I was the only one in the room asking these.
After his presentation, I thanked the NC Equality guy for coming--whose name is Ian--and he gave me his card. I think I'm supposed to give it to AJ.
So then, I was relating my experiences to Rachel while selling Chik-Fil-A, and said "He was so supportive! I was so glad that he came!" I looked up, and there was a kid in my group standing there. I had never seen him before; he must be new.
After lunch, we proceed to a seminar on diversity, and I notice that this guy will not stop staring at me. Throughout the course of the hour, he just kept looking at me. It was uncomfortable. I'm not sure what was going through his mind, but it makes me laugh now, when I look back on the situation. Because I wasn't doing this for me, they don't even go to RCHS. It was for someone else.