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My friend Ben has a lovely report on his blog about the architectural mishaps that are recognized when earthquakes occur. Among his statistics:
-26 December 2003: More than 30,000 killed in Bam, Iran
-21 June 1990: 40,000 killed in Gilan, Iran
-7 December 1988: 25,000 killed in north-west Armenia
-28 July 1976: 500,000 killed in Tangshan, China
Earthquake Timeline (BBC)
Now, why is it that the media fails to report on all of these horrific occurences, but never fails to describe the tragic homicide of random individuals? Perhaps the amount of the dead is merely a statistic for these hungry reporters. It's disgusting.
I like pretty boys.
Especially you.
That is all.
Daydreaming.
Without a care in the world.
Dear child, what have you done?
Or rather
What have they done to you?
My father recently received "Dude, Where's My Country?" for Christmas. I promptly stole it from him, and will not give it back until I have read Michael Moore and his inherent goodness cover-to-cover twice.
The New York Times has a glowing article about Howard Dean and his solid base of Internet support. The article states:
" In Washington, the Internet is still seen mainly as a high-velocity disseminator of gossip (Drudge) and rabidly partisan sharpshooting by self-publishing excoriators of the left and right. When used by campaigns, the Internet becomes a synonym for "the young," "geeks," "small contributors" and "upper middle class," as if it were an eccentric electronic cousin to direct-mail fund-raising run by the acne-prone members of a suburban high school's computer club. In other words, the political establishment has been blindsided by the Internet's growing sophistication as a political tool — and therefore blindsided by the Dean campaign — much as the music industry establishment was by file sharing and the major movie studios were by "The Blair Witch Project," the amateurish under-$100,000 movie that turned viral marketing on the Web into a financial mother lode. "
You heard that right.
Things I have overheard, or have had spoken to me since my grandparents descended upon my house:
"I got you this perfume, honey. It's called 'White Shoulders'. It reminded me of you." --My grandmother
"Guess what! I'm gay!" --Jonathan
"Don't you say that word again!" --My grandmother
"Now, a proper bedroom should include a dresser, a mirror, and a chair...this bedroom does not have a dresser, a mirror, and a chair." --My grandfather
"I want your cat. What could I give you for your cat?" --My grandmother
"I want lots of money for college!" --Jonathan
(commenting on the author of a book with his arm around another man) "Now, some people think that they are lovers, but I know that they are just best friends. Don't let them influence you." --My grandmother
My grandmother is completely enamored by Tom:
(after I finished playing the piano) "Now, play the song that you play for Tom"--My grandmother
"....What?" --Me
"You know, when he comes over here for your dates, he sits down, and you play the piano for him, don't you?" --My grandmother
"Ohhhh! Tom drives a Volvo! Ohhhhhh!" --My grandmother
"You don't need a car! Tom can drive you everywhere!" --My grandmother
"I don't think Tom wants to drive me everywhere." --Me
"Tom is soooo handsome! And he goes to country clubs! Ohhhh!" --My grandmother swooning
We are expecting fourteen people to be residing in our house within the next few days. Oh, the joys of family. Luckily, my dear cousins will be visiting, and we will be purchasing some lovely Gold Teeth.
Your soul is bound to the Burning Rose: The
Rapture.
"I go where my heart beckons me, and I go
with my head high. But sometimes, I get a need
until I bleed so my heart swims above my
head."
The Burning Rose is associated with passion,
intensity, and desire. It is governed by the
god Eros and its sign is The Flame, or Physical
Love.
As a Burning Rose, you can get lost in the moment
if you let yourself. You are a very physical
person, be it in relationships, work, or play.
You may be driven by your hormones sometimes,
but you know it's because you have to follow
your instinct.
What Rose Is Your Soul Bound To?
brought to you by Quizilla
Dear Lord, I sound like some type of sex goddess.
Sheesh.
Darling
existensialism is a temporary phase
everything he lost had made him smile without a face
he thought he couldn't chase a dragonfly across the sea
oblivious, his loved ones fuss
he's never really pleased
he says he loved
back in nineteen forty two
sitting there without a chair
the way you used to do
he says he wants
to claim a subtle part of me
it capsizes and drowns
beneath the high society
you have lost it high along the way
I have cost it half a daily's pay
we've lost our song
Darling, keep me one more day
taking on the universe has somehow lost its fame
badmitton and tennis can't compare to this game
she fears she's cared too much, pressing on about a beau
ce jour-là il est tombé amoureux
what has she feared
coming home to you
fire and a lonely heart
suppose a monster too
what has she done
words inside her head
rehearsing for the silverware
he has been underfed
you have lost it high along the way
I have cost it half a daily's pay
we've lost our song
Darling, keep me one more day
life is grumbles with cream
(keep the words, just keep the words)
slice it apart through the seams
(tear it up, just tear it up)
safely cross to school
it's still morning
existensialism is a temporary phase
everything he lost had made him smile without a face
you have lost it high along the way
I have cost it half a daily's pay
we've lost our song
Darling, keep me one more day
--Me
Inspired by Jack White.
I must say, yesterday evening was the first time in quite a while that I have actually seen a movie on its opening day. I thus decided to take an advantage of this oppertunity, and share my thoughts on Cold Mountain.
The movie begins with a battle, strangely reminsicent of Saving Private Ryan, another epic war movie that narrowly missed the 1998 Academy Award for Best Picture. Like Saving Private Ryan, I fear that Cold Mountain spends entirely too much time attempting to prove its point that war is bad. The extended shots of blood, pain, and suffering leave the audience conflicted on which side to feel pity for. Although the movie is set from the viewpoint of the Confederates, I personally felt confused on which side the director, Anthony Minghella, really wanted the audience to cheer for.
One shot that particuarly stayed in my mind was that of Inman, played by the incredibly attractive Jude Law, dragging his screaming and bloody friend out from the crater groaning with wounded bodies attempting to escape. Blood had become ankle-deep in the crater, and lapped against the sides like a pond. Later shots depict Inman wading through water, a juxtaposition which I found eerily effective.
Inman escapes, but later takes a bullet to his neck when guarding the Confederate camp against Union forces. From that point, the story detours into a series of flashbacks that are both well-placed and interesting. From these flashbacks, the audience is able to better understand the relationship between Inman and Ada, his gooey love interest. In the meantime, the story tells more of Ada, an emotionally taxing role that Nicole Kidman carries out with panache.
As the telling of the relationship between Inman and Ada begins, it is difficult to understand why the two simply don't get on with their lives. However, as the movie delves into their personal conflicts, Inman and Ada serve and bases of support for one another, as they each become a source of hope for their general well-being. As Inman begins a trek across North Carolina (oh wait! It's really Romania), Ada suffers the death of her father and the growing presence of some nasty thugs.
Ada seems lost until Ruby (Renee Zellweger) arrives, in an excellent scene that is brilliantly played out. I believe that Zellweger is justly deserving of an Oscar this year, not just for this role, but for all of her talents as a convincing and scene-stealing actress.
One point that I must mention is the strength of the supporting cast, where each actor brings a fresh change to each scene. Without the talents of several very good actors, the connection between Inman and Ada would seem long and boring. In particular, Philip Seymour Hoffman plays a horny preacher, lending just the right amount of comedy and tragedy to his role. Also, I was proud of myself for identifying that Jack White played Renee Zellweger's love interest. It appears as though Jack also contributed several songs for the soundtrack, one that promises to be top-notch.
At this point in the movie, I discovered that the elbow portion of my shirtsleeve was covered in warm melted Junior Mint blobs. Moreover, the sticky candy appeared to cover Tom's crotch, the results of a forgotten mint that he had absentmindedly dropped onto his lap. The situation was amusing but extremely disgusting. Needless to say, I missed several minutes of the film as I sat there, attempting to watch the screen while prying gummy and wet globules of minty-fresh chocolate off my sleeve.
The film closes in an ending that's fitting of the story itself. One can almost hear a collective gasp in the theatre at the moment when everyone simultaneously realizes that their worst fears have all come true. I cried, but know that the final poignant scenes are necessary for the emotional power of the movie. Yet I will not see Cold Mountain again for a while at least, simply because it is a deep movie that begs not to be taken lightly.
It's not predicting much to state that Cold Mountain will glean most of the Academy Award nominations this year; the real question lies in its competition between the much-deserving Return of the King for the award of Best Picture. At this point, I think that the Oscar could go either way between these two; no other pictures are emerging as frontrunners.
I would make an excellent old British college professor, with a white mustache, a pipe, and lots of tweed jackets, I think. There is something so intruiging about college professors, though one has to wonder whether they're any different from the rest of us.
Wishing you a blue, sparkly Christmas.
So far, I've received the lovely Jcrew corduroy blazer that I asked for; it comes complete with suede elbow patches. I've also gotten some lovely Kate Spade perfume and a new cell phone. Materialism is so refreshing every once in a while; especially when you don't have to pay for such objects.
I think I shall start an ironing business!
Bethany's Ironing Service
for all of your straightening needs
You know, there are dry cleaning businesses, but none that involving good old-fashioned ironing. I think some people would love to pay me large sums of money, in order to have their clothes freshly pressed. I mean, who has time to iron their clothes anymore? Why, I know some people that wear wrinkle-prone clothes everyday.
Have you ever needed to attend an important business meeting, but your Oxford-and-khakis ensemble is showing wrinkles by lunchtime? Visiting an ironing store, such as Bethany's Ironing Service, can elimate your pesky wrinkles in minutes! Feel fresh and clean again!
Hmm...that's better than "Bethany's Ironing Service--Pressing against your clothes in a fresh manner".
Bekka suggests hourly rates.
This is beginning to sound like one of those horrible slogans that appear on the back of Abercrombie t-shirts and the like. Oh dear.
This blog is just what I was looking for....not.
It's an interesting concept, to say the least, but I'm not a great fan of online dating.
Today is not good, but finally going to see Lord of the Rings tonight, after a horrible wait prolonged by sickness, exams, and performances.
Return of the King just set the five-day opening record at the box offices, earning $246.1 million between last Wednesday and Sunday. I thought it was particuarly interesting that $121 million of that incredible box office gross was from overseas moviegoers.
Also, sometimes, the amount of time that people have on their hands is rather scary. A friend once told me that Fanfiction.net was the best part of his life. I think the oddest thing I found on that site was a story about the romance involving two Magic School Bus characters. Don't let this happen to you; a healthy interest in literature is alright, but the line between appreciation and obsession is better left alone.
I have exactly 48 hours to memorize two pages (Times New Roman, size 12 font) of a monologue; I'm taking the place of the sermon at my church's Christmas Eve services. Gakk.
I applaud these Lord of the Rings fanatics for the creativity and stamina, though I must say, the man who is dressed up like Gollum must be very cold. Two years ago, I wore a cape to a showing of the first Harry Potter film, and danced in the aisles to the ending credits' music. I was such a silly kid. It pains me to be stuck with performances all day, and unable to go see Return of the King.
Also, did anyone else see that the photo for the article is credited to "Terry Gilliam"? Not the man of Monty Python fame, I suppose.
However, Steph Rahl has posted quite an excellent--albeit very short--review of "R&G" on her blog:
"'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead' tonight at RLT. Without a doubt the most astounding live theater I have seen all year. Anna and Maddy, heart-wrenching and funny. The rest of the cast -- I love you all. Come out and see it with me tomorrow, I'm going again -- show starts at 7:30pm and ends at 9pm."
You know you want to come see it.
I opposed attending the neighborhood Christmas party as soon as I woke up this morning. The party began at 9:45 in the morning, and lasted until the present moments, shortly before lunchtime. There were a few other children there, but there was at least a ten-year age gap between me and the other guests.
Yet is age such an issue? Sometimes, it seems that I get along better with adults than with my peers. These people have insights on life that are both wise and inspiring, seeing the world from an angle gleaned from years of practical experience. On the other hand, I become frustrated when I'm treated like some cute family knick-knack with the IQ of a guinea pig. The task of being senior citizen eye candy quickly gets old; I can't even remember how many people took pictures of me today. But I suppose that they're just trying to bask in the nostalgia of childhood--or maybe I just look pretty.
Weird Dream Part II: I was playing paintball with AJ.
I'm not sick that much anymore; I woke up, and my temperature was 99.8, so my mommy said that I should stay home. But I feel fine, honestly!
In the brief period between sleeping and waking, you eyes can still faintly perceive the light and darkness of the room under closed lids. Ever so often, when your brain has enough power, or strength, or whatever it is, you find yourself in a world between the real and the surreal. You can do anything within the context of the mind, and often you see things which you never anticipate. You can be yourself, or you can take the form of another, in your mind, it doesn't really matter.
And for a time, relatively, your brain tries to hurry up all of its dreaming in several moments. You are inundated with the amount of thought and information that your subconscious is throwing at you. You think, but you cannot feel. Or perhaps this is me, discovering my underdeveloped psychic potential, and whatnot.
Sometimes, only once every few months or so, you can glimpse at yourself. It's like you are looking at a movie that was captured by yesterday's camera, which you have rewound and watched it from outside shots and wide angles. You pick out all the details, change some of them when necessary, and then store the memory in the back of your mind.
No memory that you keep is ever what actually happened. In actuality, each memory that we possess has been reexamined and prodded, whether consciously or subconsciously, to tailor the confines of our mind. Over time, memories which originally brought joy may bring pain, and vice versa; they are tainted by your newfangled ideals and views of the rudimentary event. Others which we had a strong feeling about may be embellished by our minds, sensationalizing each recollection to increase its signifigance. This is depressing, in a way, to know that our mind warps events to change our perceptions of our own personal histories.
I don't think that anyone knows how today may be looked upon in retrospect. Will you think of today with the smile, remembering something funny that you said, or just a happy event that occured? Or will you cringe at the thought of today, wondering how you could possibly be so stupid? Perhaps you won't even remember today at all.
There is something completely odd and unnerving about dreaming that you are Chris Martin.
I regret to inform you that posts will be brief for the next few days because 1) exams 2) Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead opens in 2 days, and 3) I am very sick and have to cope with all of this somehow.
If anyone understands anything about PreCalculus, meet me in the Wajima house of exam doom tomorrow before school.
There is something incredibly irresistable about a good juxaposition. I have noticed lately that ever since an exercize in Chinese poetry last year, I am becoming increasingly aware of the juxtapositions that modern society finds and displays for me, like some sort of delectable dish on a silver platter. The location and timing of these events are especially key. While it may be hard to distinguish juxtaposition from irony, the difference simply lies in the simultaneous contrast between two things. Among my observations:
--Speaking on a cellular phone in a public area
--Expensive SUVs illegally parked on a strip of grass by a mall, because the small, old station wagons have taken all the parking places.
--A boy dressed like a girl, next to a girl dressed like a boy
--A teenage girl, caked with makeup and wearing hardly anything, calling herself a baby
The simpleness of the world leads me to believe that perhaps this is all some cruel trick which a higher power enjoys crafting; that it is all a show where we are forced to play our parts, without knowing our lines. Life is simply discovering the joy of improvisation, one moment at a time.
What did the tribesmen eat in New Orleans?
Pagan Barbecue.
Oh dear!
I'm sick.
Also, this woman looked like she had either 1) a featherduster or 2) a small furry rodent on her head, and the picture made me laugh.
While procrastinating on the dauntless array of homework which I have somehow gotten and forgotten, I spent an hour making a quiz--"Which RCHS Blogger Are You?"
Then, it was all deleted.
Then, I made it again, because I can. And the joy of it finally working makes me feel like crying, for some reason. I'm at a very low mental capacity, and my J.Crew sweater is too hot for its own good.
So go here to take it, more results are coming soon.
I just woke up from a 2 1/2 hour nap, which was definitely not in my personal schedule. I was supposed to be reviewing for exams all day, and haven't even begun my daily homework yet.
In other news, I'm definitely in a stage of denial about possibly being sick, because I just can't get sick now.
I'm supposed to attend a middle school reunion in a few minutes, and I'm not sure how I feel about all of that.
My parents are asking me to move a sofa, because "God wills it." I'm sure there is a passage in the Bible about moving sofas.
So Saddam has been captured. We'll bang the pots and pans, put on a patriotic parade down Main Street, and stand triumphiantly with our hands over our hearts like the good old-fashioned Americans we are.
Except that nothing has changed.
Perhaps it is ignorant for me to state that the world has no great tumoil. After all, this post modern shamble seems relatively carefree compared to the Crusades (especially those following the First Crusade, in the twelfth century). Also, the eighteenth century, just three hundred short years ago, brough forth such powerful revolution from all corners of the world that conflict was aroused within the spirits of many individuals.
Yet it seems as though we hear every day about the great progress that civilization has made. I beg to differ. All that has increased is the technology of modern society, as humans struggle to surpass themselves in the dauntless competition of time. Rocks have become bows and arrows, which in turn have become machine guns and nuclear weapons.
Nothing has changed except the instruments of this madness. There is no logical progression, because nothing has progressed. Everything continues in the mobius strip which has so easily become all we will ever know.
So what are we expected to do? A cynic would be apathetic about the corner I have suddenly worked myself into, but I choose to act rather optimistic. This realization of history gives me a sort of hope, in a way. After all, isn't this normal?
Of course, just because it's normal doesn't mean it's right.
On a lighter note, I believe that I will celebrate Kwanzaa this year.
And those foggy Volvo windows? That totally wasn't me.
Can Return of the King get here any slower?
The reviews are coming in, and it all looks excellent. The suspense is slowly becoming increased as I longingly wait for the day where I may finally see one of the best movies of all time.
Almost a week away....
Just as Bekka is pining away for her dear Rinkel, I have fallen in love with the stories that rid me from the shambles of this post-modern society.
Rinkel is rubbing off on me.
youknowwho417: what what what?
youknowwho417: *slap!*
VanillaBoy07: SLAP
youknowwho417: AHH!
Good idea of the day: I believe that I will begin a radio show with Ryan Rinkel and Tom Martin. Rinkel will be the innocent one with amusing anecdotes. I will be the silly one that provides witty comments to everything. Tom will play the straight man, the one that grounds each conversation and gives it focus. He can also produce it. Perhaps Angus can DJ.
I felt like my old silly self today, it was very good for life in general.
You are invited to RLT's Storytellers Production of
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
SEE Tom Martin as a 300 year old horny man.
HEAR Anna and Maddy in their seven-minute-game-of-questions spectacular!
SMELL Simon, Delia, and six other players' sweat as they perform physically demanding acrobatics like well-trained Olympic athletes.
TOUCH the coin from the famous "coin toss" sequence--if it accidentally gets thrown at you.
TASTE the excitement in the air, as a twenty-five person cast performs for a two hour extravaganza!
YOU WON'T BELIEVE YOUR EYES!
REVEL in my fantastic skills of TAing that helped produce this shenanagous production.
Tom Stoppard's interpretation of Hamlet through the perspective of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, two minor characters.
Be there or be square.
African-American women
Fred Durst
Christina Aguilera
Moby
and now George W. Bush?
Eminem never seems to stop with his criticisms of the general populace, and recently published a song in which he wished that Dubya was dead. The Secret Service got a bit freaked out, but decided "not to probe into the matter"...whatever that means. I'm not sure whose side to take on this issue--a blathingly rude rapper or a shockingly close-minded leader of the free world. Best to stick with the SS men.
In the midst of so much pain and despair about dear Angela Stapleton, it is certainly encouraging to have others to share in the tragedy. The excessive outpouring of sentimentality is just enough for the occasion, without being too obtuse. Although some people were remarking on the event lightheartedly, I believe that they just felt uncomfortable with the situation. I encourage all of you to pray for the Stapleton family, like you so faithfully and diligently have done already. Thanks.
I enjoy Daniel Peacock's art.
Sometimes it seems as though in the turbulent world of high school, entire lives are dependent on other people. Don't do this, folks. It makes you susceptible to heartbreak. Instead, focus more on meeting new individuals. It may not brighten your day, but it certainly will brighten theirs.
Ann Coutler dolls aren't such a surprise. We always knew she was plastic.
Oh good! They finally got a date for Dennis Kucinich! The only problem is, the 34 year old woman that was set up with the 57-year old scary-looking politician already has a boyfriend. Ewwww. She could do so much better.
Also, CBS is considering a new reality show about a presidential campaign. I bet Kucinich think it's a wonderful idea--after all, his quest for a first lady started the trend.
Everyone's got to start somewhere. My ranking however, is 886...that's pretty good, however, when ones takes into consideration that I may well be one of the youngest people on there. Mrs.Newmark's is #189, with over 600 hits a day. Sheesh.
I believe that personality traits are determined not by a specific genetic code, but by the style and type of nurturing that children receive at a very young age. This question has been argued for generations; "Nature vs. Nurture" has been in the news countless times as a scientists continue to try and find a solution to this debate. Personally, however, I think that nurture takes precedence over the natural genetics of an individual.
When I was a child, my parents became extremely angry whenever I raised my voice. I was quite an problematic child; when I was in kindergarten, I vaguely remember my mother crying as she told me that I would go to military school if I didn't stop visiting the principal's office. Even as a child, I would talk back to teachers, criticizing their lesson plans, and spouting off words they that didn't even understand. My early progress reports were horrible. The world was mine; I was a pint-sized dictator.
Eventually, my parents implemented a system to control my behavior. Whenever I raised my voice or became angry, they would say "It's time for an attitude adjustment". In retrospect, these words both annoyed and frightened me. I was forced to comply, or else I would be revoked certain priviledges. Over time, I adjusted to the command, and became submissive, so as not to frustrate my parents.
I think this has damaged me.
Today, I cannot get angry; it is simply impossible for me. I may become annoyed, but instead of acting irritated, I simply relapse into a state of prickly sadness, believing that I am to blame for the situation. The juxtaposition between my childhood impudence and my contemporary submission is shocking. I have not become truly angry since I can remember; while this may be looked upon as healthy, the constant building up of emotions is mentally exhausting. Instead of saying what I want, a sort of trigger in my brain stops me, and I stare dully into space. Don't me wrong, I occasionally become annoyed at times, but there is a difference. I can't be angry at anything.
Perhaps I will work for the UN.
I had a dream last night that Tom was throwing wine glasses at my bleeding face while Ryan Rinkel buried himself into Bekka, cowering in the corner. It was quite disturbing.
I had a bit too much fun with the Bush Backdrop Generator, which I stealthily stole from The Politcal Wire. Because the site uses Flash Player, you have to actually click on the links provided below. Trust me, they are worth it.
First, America has federal reserves of a different breed .
The reason why Bush attracts certain groups of Republicans.
Never get in the way of a Bald Man .
I attended Broughton High School's production of "Blood Wedding" this evening. I was expecting a mediocre performance, but instead I received a parody of post-modern performance art, all neatly handed to me on a silver platter.
The play has a basic plot: Guy 1 likes girl, girl liked guy 2, both girl and guy 2 were married to other people. Girl and guy 2 run off, guy 1 gets jealous, both guys die. This plot would be simple, if it didn't take several hours of abstract gook to represent.
Now, I'm all for a good contemporary show--my favorite portion of the art museum is the abstract section--but I don't think that a production of this calibur could ever accurately be portrayed by high school students. Here were some of my...erm..favorite parts:
--the play began with a 15 minute long 'modern dance' which involved preppy girls in preppy black clothing dancing like....never mind.
--the mother in the show had serious fashion issues; there was some sort of black box on her head that was covered by a ill-fitting veil. Her dress was shiny and booger green.
--There was a random ode of red wool in the beginning of the second half. It consisted of three girls dressed head to toe in red, spinning three identical looms while proclaiming such deep statements as "I feel the wool" and "Red wool, red wool, red wool".
--a 10 minute long fight in slow motion--it was like watching the matrix...except not.
--Joe LaVersa danced.
--the theme coursing throughout the play was sex, and soon everything became an innuendo. It was quite sad to see such a modern piece of artwork turn into shambles through close-minded innuendos.
Adam Patterson is soooo funny. He gets a special prize or something of that sort.
You and your museum of lovers
The precious collection you've housed in your covers
My simpleness threatened by my own admission
--No Doubt
What was that whole thing about Chelsea Quarfot yelling at me when I threw money up in the air? I did not need that today. Too much crying; too much sensitivity.
In the tradition of Lucas and Will, when one performs a Google image search on Dennis Kucinich, this pops up:
And this is supposed to make women want him?
No
I didn't lie
didn't try to hide my eyes
chasing the the wispy tails of airplanes
my spine cracked
as Toblerone made me realize
I was worth
$2.99
(original price)
to you.
In March a part of me didn't know
to speak
side-to-side I wavered
now with a seismograph
between the days of bittersweet nostalgia
in haste defeat
hast retreat
to cordially meet what has remained
for several months.
Cherry popsicles
1-wheeled bicycle
the jack o' lantern grin
you scrunch up your face
and laugh
at my half-vacant pores
placing your thoughts in scattegories.
Through your hands
you missed the entire list of the
weekly recitative monologues
of sorrow
monologues asking the permission
to borrow you
and ship you
inside the next airplane tail
to Guam
so you won't
bother me.
--Me
Today: Bad day gone funny in badness. Too tired. I would collapse, but that would certainly make me less attractive. Weakness is not a virtue.
Tom Tomorrow is very awesome indeed.
If you go to the WB Raleigh, NC news, there is an article entitled "Condom dispensers to go up in city government officers".
Good job guys...I think you mean offices.
Kudos to Bekka for giving me the link.
Alas, we all love. It is human nature.
Love is not an arcane emotion, everyone on the planet experiences it at one point or another. The challenge, however, lies within pinpointing the exact feeling. Love could be a different sort of emotion for varying types of individuals.
And of course, there are different forms of the emotion itself. At times, they may all become extremely confusing, especially when attempting to differentiate between several combinations of these feelings.
--Love for a family member: humans are expected to love their family, especially their parents, because of their fundamental role in creating each of us.
--Love for a friend: a complete attachment devoid of any romantic feelings, but still containing a close, tight-knit bond.
--Love for an inanimate object: indeed, some possess a deep affection for money, property, or a simple toy. Imagine a child's face on Christmas morning.
--Love for a concept or issue: often occuring in politics, this feeling often arouses a passion to provide for the common good, and often creates problems because of conflicting interests between groups.
--Love for a lover: This is perhaps the most often described and sensationalized form of the emotion itself. I do believe in true love, though I don't believe it could be accurately experienced until both indviduals have fully matured into adulthood.
--Lust: Complete unbridled sexual desire. Enough said.
--Infatuation: Short term love for a particular object or person without any real depth to the relationship together. This often occurs at middle school dances.
A friend once set forth the theory that all of human's relationships with others are determined by a sort of wavelength that all of our minds are set on. Imagine a radio dial, with each brain broadcasting a certain frequency. The trick within the nebulus of stations is to find the wavelength that closely matches ours. If your brain is set to 103.9, then those with 103.8 and 104.0 brains can faintly be heard between varying doses of static. Likewise, brains with wavelengths on the opposite side of the spectrum may have nothing in common, but still remain on the same dial. Supposedly, our "true love" has a wavelength that matches our own.
Ultimately, love is a feeling of togetherness or oneness between individuals. And when it occurs, enjoy it all that you can. It is a feeling which has been encapsulated by a short moment of your life.
One other thing. How can someone tell true love? Talk to a man who still loves a girl eight years after she's died.
It remains.
Time for lists.
My art class is taking a trip to the art museum next Thursday.
Pros:
--Gone for 3 hours
--AWAY FROM SCHOOL
--friends will be there
--no english class
Cons:
--could possibly attend Drama IV/V
--missing Latin exam review
missing GoPo exam review
--art class contains The Lip
--The Lip wants my phone number
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....
This is how many people I know who are sick:
--an entire row of my math class
--Alex O'Neill
--Tom
--Caitlyn Wells
--Jarrett
--Angela
--Sam
--Victoria
--Jordan
--Ryan Rinkel (ok, so he got better)
There are several more, but I simply cannot remember them all. Taking vitamins and using large amounts of hand sanitizer. I can't afford to get sick now.
Nate Lumpkin has a very detailed post about love on his blog. Considering that this is a subject experienced by most everyone, I encourage you to share your comments. Nate's opinion is insightful and mature, and I commend him for his post. Be looking for a post concerning my views on LOVE when I get the chance.
First, it appears as though a film of The Hobbit is in order. This book is very dear to me; it was the first chapter book that my mother read to me; I was scarely four years old, living in a 1920's West Virginia house.
Also, according to an Australian news website, Peter Jackson has salvaged Bag End, and has moved the famous hobbit hole to be used as a guesthouse on his property. The article discusses Jackson's love for Bilbo's lovely home, and also discusses previous location scouting for the Lord of the Rings movies.
2 1/2 weeks till RotK, guys. Let's go party.
Likewise, Return of the King will open just hours after the first performance of "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead", RLT's lovely show based on the Tom Stoppard interpretation of Hamlet. I am becoming increasingly concerned about this production; no one seems to know their lines and entire rehearsals are continuously being cut. We receieved a new schedule today, and we are still blocking the show two days before it opens. Though recent events (the loss of the director, and a rampant cast sickness) have caused setbacks along the rehearsal schedule, I am nervous about the success of this production.