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Due to Popular Demand...A Few Tastefully Bad Pick Up Lines:
I feel like Richard Gere, I'm standing next to you, the Pretty Woman.
My love for you is like diarrhea. I can't hold it in.
If I told you you had a nice body, would you hold it against me? (from Bekka)
Are we related? Do you want to be?
Are you a Pokemon?? Cuz i'd sure like to Pikachu!!.
Your name is Jimbo, huh? Can I call you Jimbo? Really, what time?
Me: I have a magical watch. It says that you aren't wearing underwear. You: But I am wearing underwear! Me: Oh, it must be an hour fast.
Hi, the voices in my head told me to come over and talk to you.
Excuse me, ma'am, is that dress felt? Would you like it to be?
Do you think you might possibly have a mutual friend who could introduce us?
If I were a frog, you'd be the first lilypad I'd jump on.
(handing out a rose) I just wanted to show this rose how incredibly beautiful you are!!
Are you going to kiss me, or do I have to lie to my diary again?
I can read palms. (write your number on their hand) Oooh, it says your gonna call me soon!
I have only three months to live...
Some quotes courtesy of this site or this site
I've been a bit busy lately; designing HTML for blogs of friends. Also, last night I spent the evening with Warren and three male dancers. It's not what it seems.
In addition, I am beginning to form WePlay, an student-run organization dedicated to bridging the arts to the community. With a core group of ensemble actors, WePlay will produce short shows for those in need; retirement homes, daycare establishments for low-income children, and the like. Positions need to be filled both on and offstage. Application is by interview only; for more information, or if you are interested in joining, feel free to contact me.
Inconsequentially, it appears as though I'm beginning to forget previous vows and promises to myself concerning social affairs.
<3
Antarctica is the new hotspot for dinosaur digging! Two new species have been found recently, a tiny carnivore and a large herbivore. Mmm. What's interesting about these finds, however, is that scientists date the fossils 130 million years apart--the difference between the Jurassic and Cretaceous periods, if I remember correctly. Although Antartica's icy climate hinders the likelihood of finding many fossils, the fact that it used to rest in Pangea, with a more tropical climate, increases the probability that fossils that could be present there. I'm suprised that not many scientists have looked for fossils there before.
Ant farms are back! In Germany, it seems as though schoolchildren have developed a new hobby--ant breeding. Apparently, the growing trend is quite exciting, but very pricey. "Children love them because they can observe a mini-world. Every member of the colony has a different job to do, some collect food, others defend the queen," says ant-breeding spokesperson Martin Sebesta. Ah, the good old days, when children would sit for hours, watching their lovely ant colonies at work. Who doesn't recall urban legends concerning the classroom ant farm getting knocked over during school?
Also, The Darkness has a new video.
Love is only a feeling
(Drifting away)
When I'm in your arms I start believing
(It's here to stay)
But love is only a feeling
Anyway
It seems as though Jesus has made people forget that the Academy Awards are this Sunday. The Passion has diverted Hollywood attention to it, instead of allowing celebrites and the media alike to bask in the Pre-Oscar glow. Mel Gibson probably planned it this way--after all, wouldn't it be smart to put a movie about Good Friday on Good Friday? Just an idea.
Opening for the world-famous Jump, Little Children comes Michael Flynn, a gifted musician with addicting songs. It's indie rock with a softer, contemporary side--the same type of progressive style that made J,LC well-known throughout the music industry. Yet Michael has a down-home blues sound, a quiet revival of folk melodies and emo piano music that promises dancable beats and just a dash of electronica.
Everyone is exactly who they are (listen
here)
True individuality is like quantum physics for the soul. The definition sounds easy enough, but too much brouhaha has been created over finding one's true self. In recent quantum research, an existence of small particles seems obvious, but detailed research reveals that these small particles are only theoretical and expressed centers that stem from involuntary tricks of the mind. Like time itself, the practice of becoming one's own person is an obvious concept that cannot fully be grasped, and will continue into infinity.
Our identities as a whole may never be wholly perceived, since other people will always have varying viewpoints. Obviously, the closest friend of an individual will present a very different opinion than a mere aquaitance, a teacher, even a parent. A puzzle lies in the conflict of interests between parties, including those whom one believes to be their greatest allies. In particular, opinions that differ about a scenerio may increase the confusion and anxiety surrounding a person, until their own decisions can be tainted and restricted by the many variations upon the same basic principle. The largest obstacle once must cross, theoretically, in finding oneself is to entirely release themselves from the judgements of others; to cut loose the bonds of dependence and emotional reliance.
The conflict lies in the neo-absence of others, since this act causes so much elemental pain to the human spirit. Suffice to say, because the discovery of oneself must be done alone, it is reasonable to say that these practices must be done outside of relationships with others. Yet humans are such social creatures that heartbreak is fundamentally pitied. Individuals dwell too often on the negative aspects of ending relationships, tearing their heartstrings in order to forget a person that should be remembered. After all, recognizing the growth from previous relationships yields an overall greater emotional maturity.
The beginning of a new journey always stems from the ending of another. While it is important to reflect upon the previous commitments that have been lately released, it also is sometimes necessary to draw such commitments to a close. And perhaps the future can be something even more magnificent, a new pocket of beauty that has slipped away and been pushed aside by previous situations, a grandiose opportunity for development and renewal. And it won't require quantum physics to find it.
For Rebekka
Anyone who has read Nicholas Spark's A Walk to Remember can recall the faithful promise Landon of to never marry another girl after Jamie dies. The act is both heartbreaking and sweet; it compells me to express the deepest sympathy to any party involved in such a situation. Yet apparently, these scenerios aren't as rare as I once had though. Recently, a French woman has officially married her dead boyfriend, in a ceremony which had to be preapproved by the French president himself. Though her boyfriend had been killed in a car accident several years earlier, her feelings for him had not changed. It is so terrible and yet so admirable that one's love can be so strong.
Oh dear, George W. Bush's dog just died, at the ripe age of 14. The poor creature suffered several strokes before being put to sleep. The President was grieving yesterday. Poor guy.
The mayor of San Francisco, Gavin Newson, is willing to sacrifice his political career for his support of gay and lesbian marriages. This is reminiscent of Harvey Milk, the openly gay 1970's San Francisco Board of Supervisors member who was later assassinated by a fellow Supervisor. Ech.
Newson states, "I do not believe it's appropriate for me, as mayor of San Francisco, to discriminate against people....And if that means my political career ends, so be it."
Politicians like Newson are difficult to find these days, truly running for office because they want to shamelessly help the common good. Several other officials, including Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, disapprove of his decision. However, portions of the public seem to approve--in San Fran, almost 3,200 same-sex couples have gotten marriage licenses just in the last nine days.
Maureen Ryan presents a comprehensive list detailing all of Carrie Bradshaw's ex boyfriends from Sex in the City. Some people have too much spare time.
Yesterday's session of Student Legislative Assembly was carried out nicely. The majority of bills passed or failed in accordance with my voting habits. There were several funny occurances, including one freshman who, after arguing that sex education would "make people have sex 24/7", ended his statement by saying "I yield my time, because, yeah, I gotta go to the bathroom," and promptly left the conference room. After the assembly, I visited Tom's house, where we both became easily distracted from his math work.
In the evening, I drove to Iris's party, which was at some obscure location in Morrisville that was quite difficult to find. Eventually, I arrived with Bekka and Usha (who I had picked up along the way) to a large dark room throbbing with bass and containing small groups of people, separated in small circles. It reminded me of middle school dances, except that now Mark Hemphill was there, throwing ice down girls' shirts.
Eventually, Kaj, John, Mike, and I decided to pull some "shenanagins". We left the room with a cereal bowl full of carrots, and promptly decided to place carrots in random spots throughout the hotel. Carrots were placed in soda machines, on windowsills in stairwells, outside rooms, even under light fixtures. My only regret about this endeavor was that we could not provide enough carrots for every single hotel room.
Later, our group returned to the spa, where John and Kaj stole two hotel towels. I wrapped the towels on their heads like post-shower turbans, and we returned to the party. After a brief spell of turban dancing, we folded carrots and other sorts of edible goodies inside the towels, and discreetly returned them to their original location.
We also had fun with a pull-down screen normally used as a background for slide projectors. I modeled as the screen was raised like a curtain. With the pulsating beat and flashing disco lights, it was quite an affect.
* * *
The adventures continued today as Tom and I decided to view firsthand the Nazi rally at the State Capitol. Posing as some elitist figure, I borrowed a nice shirt from Tom (yes, we can wear most of each other's clothes). I used a digital camera, small sheet of paper, and pen to complete my ensemble. Tom wore a suit with sunglasses and attached a phone cord between his ear and the back of his shirt. Occasionally, he would pretend talk into it, as if receiving special instructions from fellow Secret Service agents. We mingled with reporters and Anti-Nazi protestors, assuming a role that made passerby think twice about messing with the likes of us.
At one point, a reporter questioned Tom on the cord. With a firm handshake, I introduced myself as Angela Hartsley, a reporter for the Independent, explaining that increased security precautions were necessary for the recent influx of threats. Tom remained silent, except stating that he worked for "A private agency". Another reporter informed Tom that the earpieces had gone wireless; he was most likely jealous that he could not afford such lavish security. Later, a demonstrator on the scene also apparently reprimanded Tom with a sharp, "Watch her!", gesturing in my direction.
During the North Carolina Tenth Grade Writing Test, students are required to respond to a prompt within one hundred minutes. The grade, on a scale of 1-4, counts for fifteen percent of the student's semester grade.
During the North Carolina Tenth Grade Writing Field test, our scores don't count, and I drew pictures of Joe Bradley after writing some philosophical mumbo-jumbo concerning individuality.
Witness the comparison:
It took about twenty minutes.
In fifth grade, each person in my class was required to write a poem about their life in the future. I rather like mine...
Ten years in the future
I'd never fail a job
I'd try my best
Not to be a pest
And not get in a mob.
I'd be a famous actress
With three million bodyguards
Wearing turquoise suits
And army boots
Who eat a lot of lard.
They'd be as a fat as moons
Or ugly flesh balloons
But I wouldn't care
As long as their hair
Didn't look like a baboon's.
In my first movie
My hair would be a doozy
With pretty thread
Around my head
But beggars can't be choosy.
My gown would be long and silk
The color of fresh milk
With little tiny flowers
Which I would sew for hours
To get away from guilt.
The guilt of eating too much chocolate
And getting stomachaches
The guilt of getting greedy
And eating too much chocolate cake.
For when I am an actress
I must stay thin
Or else who knows what kind of trouble
I'll get in.
I'll only eat the best food
Only escargos--no "clucks" or "moos"
And simply wonderful chocolate shakes
That my cool mother makes
Which I'd be able to choose.
It's just not working out
We're not the same
We've grown apart
It's not you, it's me
I need some space
Things have changed
It's over.
Take time, my friends, to remember the man named Howard Dean and the legacy that he has created. Dean, we will not forget you quickly.
"However, as a way of connecting with voters, as a style, as a political salesman, Howard Dean was unique. His days as a candidate are over, but he took the Democratic Party in a new direction at a critical moment. His place in American political history is secure."
I miss him already.
Whoa! Who knew that Deanie Babies even existed? Anyone whose face can be turned into a lovable plush toy deserves to be president. How could anyone ever call a man represented such a cute toy angry? Deanie Babies have even been selected to be part of the Smithsonian's permanent collection.
Aww.
Tom Raum of the AP discusses the probability of Bush picking another running mate over Cheney. Did anyone else realize that Bush and Cheney are only six years apart? Cheney always reminded me of a department store Santa Claus sans beard. Personally, in terms of a new Vice-President, I think Bush could do much better; Rudy Giuliani in particular would be a good choice.
It seems as though there is a new member in the Axis of Evil: Beyonce. While we were busying worrying about Osama and Saddam, Beyonce Knowle's father was planning a global domination for his daughter. Essence Magazine editor Cori Murray says, "She has it: vocal talent, she's a gifted songwriter and performer, she's sexy and sassy, plus a humble spirit." I think Beyonce's sort of icky myself. For some reason, her thighs get on my nerves. They are gellatinous.
Here's a sketch: (Pictures to come of the following finished product.)
If anyone could contribute a fitting name, it would be greatly appreciated.
The painting style of Karl Schmidt-Rottluff directly influences the creation of my personal acrylic-on-canvas portrait that encompasses several elements of Schmidt-Rottluff’s eye for design. In particular, Footpath (1911) was significantly used to inspire the creation of the latter painting. Schmidt-Rottluff’s use of bright, contrasting colors emblazoned over a similarly vibrant background was studied, as well as the color schemes of German expressionism, to create a desired effect. In addition, the placement of jagged dark outlines surrounding the corners of the figure resulted in a vivid, more dramatic portrait. Yet the largest comparison that can be drawn between the two pieces is the sheer emotional impact that they mutually possess. Whereas Footpath encompasses a resolved sense of sentimentality and wisdom, my portrait serves as an innocent reminder concerning the startled nature of human emotion. It is also of note that both portraits were created of individuals that had close relationships to the artists, an association that increases the intensity of the portrait. Together, these two paintings showcase the depth of fundamental human passion, both in a tangible and ethereal level.
The inspiration.
I'm not feeling too good.
Pictures of the actual piece later.
Update:
Gene Wilder movie night went well. I think that I will have another one. We will watch this:
Valentine's Day was nice too. I saw "Cabaret" at Durham Academy with the wonderful Warren Weisler. It was surprising that the school was actually allowed to choose this musical for production; half the characters run around in their underwear, and there was a great deal of both anti-semitism and sex. Then, we went to Outback Steakhouse. Afterwards, we drove around in his Acura until the morning.
It's Valentine's Day, and in last-minute losers are desperately scrounging around trying to find a date. Take my advice, and try a few of these ideas:
--Dress up as a ninja and prove your bravery (and strong fighting skills) by getting a few of your biggest friends to help. Stage a karate extravaganza in front of your special someone where you use martial arts to leave your 'attackers' weeping on the ground.
--Write your admiree secret love letters, purloined from your favorite author: Tom Clancy.
--Give your date a small mirror. When they ask about it, say "It's a magic mirror. When you look in it, you can see what I'm thinking about at that moment." Of course she won't think you're a stalker.
--Buy a Mexican jumping bean; I've seen them sold at KB Toys before. Enclose it in a tiny clear box with a note, "This bean isn't the only thing of mine that jumps!"
--Show up with a birthday cake and candles. Apologize profusely for "forgetting something".
--Take your date to a monster truck rally. Or, simply set up one in your own backyard. As an added bonus, your neighbors will love you.
--Connect your answering machine to the automatic-dialing service on your cell phone. Record a message on your answering machine that says "I love you!" At midnight, program your cell phone to call your significant other's home phone automatically for the next twenty-four hours.
--Have a local UPS employee deliver yourself to their doorstep in a giant cardboard box. Wait there patiently (bring a crossword puzzle and a reading lamp).
--Collect several different brands of strong breath mints in a large bowl. Write a note to your desire saying "We were MINT to be!" Mention their bad breath.
--Buy them large amounts of kitchen appliances. "Toaster: Get warm, see what pops up!" They're catchy and could possibly set things on fire for you two.
--Send them a valentine, such as the one pictured at right. My brother receieved this. It scared me.
--Write out a complicated mathematical proof that will result in the two of your being together. Hide it inside their math book. It helps to know what page of homework (if any) they will be completing that night.
--If you can certainly afford it, contact your neighborhood airplane pilot, and ask him to write a message in the sky. Spell your lover's name wrong. Or if you're feeling particuarly daring, write the name of your angry ex.
--Bring your date a box of Tide, or other various laundry detergent, proclaiming "I thought you might want to get fresh!"
--Two words: Harmonica serenade.
--Watch any movie starring Marlon Brando.
--If you can't find a date, become a capitalist. Wear horrible ill-fitting clothes and simply run up to an attractive individual. Quickly, while they are too shocked to comprehend their actions, hold their hand and smile. Have a friend take a quick picture of you with your 'date'. Sell the pictures as blackmail.
Note: Some ideas from this extra-special report were inspired by The Utah Statesman and DALNet . Others were from my imagination.
Sometimes, truth is stranger than fiction.
I've got a laundry list of things to do.
I can't sleep.
I want to think.
Photos taken during the snowstorm.
My Latin teacher, a short goateed fellow named Mr.Stapleton, will consistently hammer into our minds each day the same key phrase: "Don't have a boyfriend until you're twenty five!" I used to laugh at this remark, criticizing Mr.Stapleton for his old-school ideals that didn't seemed to mesh with today's society. It's true that influences can pressure today's teenagers to find a lifelong partner as quickly as possible. Yet an equal amount of sources tell us that it's good to be single, that dating is full of sex, and that relationships will only cause pain.
Personally, I think Mr.Stapleton's on to something--you can't expect some sort of steady boyfriend all through the next ten years or so of your life. Things will change, people will change, YOU will change. All are completely natural during that time. However, that doesn't mean that one should abstain from the opposite gender entirely. Relationships with others are a fundamental part of life that can measure the stages of our maturity. Just don't make them front and center.
I'm single. I've got a the foundations of a crush on a charming boy that is the best thing since sliced bread. I'm very good friends with someone else who I recently stopped casually dating. Nothing is for certain, and I like it that way. There are no concrete relationships, nor am I completely left outside the fresh, fresh dating pool. It works for me, yes, but it doesn't work for everyone.
To be honest, I don't care whether you should be single or attached. However, I am concerned about your personal happiness. Too many people have been drawn into horrible relationships that leave them lost, alone, and helpless. Although "break-ups" are a natural part of growing up, they are inevitable and should not be chilled in the back of the refrigerator like yesterday's pot roast. If your relationship is causing you pain or strong negatives of any sort, GET OUT. It is foolish and immature to continue "going out" when your time together is laced in so much tension.
Fact is, kiddos, according to our parents and several influential Hollywood film companies, high school is the best time of our lives. Whether for you that means sitting pretty and unaffected in the land of the single, or committed to one individual entirely, that's your decision. A character from a poorly made 1996 chick-flick called I Love You, Don't Touch Me! once referred to women as food, saying that we should "sample many dishes". Though in the film this character was creepy and a bit extremist in his viewpoints--"You didn't call in three days! I moved on!"--he's a shallow reminder that love, if it exists at this age, is quite fragile.
So get your Miss Independent game on, girlfriend. Just don't let it all go to your head; guys aren't half bad. And remember what the most important part of life is? Being happy, and having fun.
And now something completely different.
Uncommon Personal Scheduling Issues:
--I have now planned every single second of my morning schedule, so that I can wake up at 7:47 and be ready to go by 8:18.
--My sleep schedule has changed; I got to bed around midnight, sleep until 7:47, and take a nap from approximately 4:03-5:46 after school each day.
--I'm actually feeling incredibly more happy and motivated. I don't understand, either.
Oops! John Kerry's done it again, as he makes victories in both Virginia and Tennessee. "We will fight for every vote and we will carry our cause all across this land," Kerry boasted this evening. It seems like Kerry's taking cues from Howard Dean in terms of inspirational rallying sound bites. However, "Take Our Country Back" is much catchier than "We Will Carry Our Cause All Across the Land", which sounds like a bad Phil Collins song.
According to the AP, "Kerry's wins in Virginia and Tennessee, his first in the South, completed his electoral puzzle by adding to his domination in every other region of the country." Unfortunately for you, bucko, this "puzzle" is as about complete as your mind. Um, earth to Kerry! A puzzle usually includes all the pieces. Don't get too cocky.
Kerry's now going to rest for a few days in his Washington home, slacking off while all these other candidates are slaving away. WHY are people letting him win? America, if you're reading this, elect anyone but Kerry, pleeeeease.
For people with a bit too much spare time, and a bit too little of anything else, comes the Anything Goes School of Masquerade Arts, a visual haven for anime fans who want to dress like their favorite characters. There's even a section where live dressed-up actors perform Yuh-Gi-Oh battles in what looks like a hotel conference room. I don't mean to condescend, I even passively collected Pokemon cards when I was a kid, but I can't help but look at this site with an expression of disbelief on my face. It's crazy. These people look about my age, too.
Then again, I'm having a fun time exploring. They even created video game soundtracks for yet-to-be-made anime spectaculars. Some people just have too much spare time.
Ah, those Limpopo game farmers have finally done what everyone dreams about--fed their coworker to a batch of hungry lions.
"Police have arrested a Limpopo game farmer and three alleged accomplices after they allegedly fed a "troublesome" worker to lions.
The unnamed men were arrested on Monday at the Engedi game farm near Hoedspruit after recovering 38-year-old Nelson Shisane's skull, part of his legs and bloodied clothing from the scene."
I'm not quite sure whether to be shocked or amused; this sounds like every man's plan to get rid of that pesky co-worker. Too bad for some that that closest zoo is several miles away.
Link from Rantburg.
Apparently, the Department of Health and Human Services is funding programs that have no real importance. Witness Girl Power, a program launched on my birthday in 1996 "to help encourage and motivate 9- to 13- year-old girls to make the most of their lives". It's goal, basically, is to convice girls to turn away from the horrors of drink, drugs, eating disorders, depression, and sex. Participants describe Girl Power as "the strength to put up with boys", and "when a girl believes in herself and knows she can do anything she wants". There are several problems that I have with the American tax dollar going to such a program, and nothing has to do with the program itself.
At first glance, Girl Power sounds like a bad Spice Girls parody, but it has a point--why do girls need to be educated in such affairs, and at such a young age? Ages nine-to-thirteen seem a bit young to be taught the ways of the world. Also, it seems as if Wake County and the Poe Health Center would do their job in teaching us about the birds and the bees, these types of programs wouldn't have to waste taxpayers' dollars.
Yet how affective is Girl Power, anyway? Has anyone actually heard of it? Moreover, has anyone actually participated in this program and been directly affected?
Look for my special Valentine's Day post this Saturday.
New favorite word: Swoon! It rolls off the tongue in one short syllable, encompassing the entire meaning of the word with a pair of pursed lips. One can be allowed to swoon over such trivialities as a good song on the radio, an absence of homework, or playing Trivial Pursuit ("Who got the Ann Coutler question last night? Bethany did! Swoon!"). It's the new catch phrase what will soon sweep the nation, replacing "cool" and "keen" with undisclosed anonymity.
When alone, it becomes easy to submissively complete projects. Yet I wrestled with the MacDowell Hungarian for several minutes today; it is shaping up after I have finally figured out the complicated phrasing. Also, I have begun playing a contemporary Romance by Jean Sibelius, which is very pretty. Moonlight III is giving me trouble, but perhaps my reluctance to play the piece is half the reason that it lurks in the shadows of my living room.
It is remarkable how much emphasis one's mind can put on a few seconds, but then forget entire years in giant chunks. This sort of selective blockage is exactly what corrupts people so easily; the cannot remember trivial details that once made them so upset, all they focus on is the current and temporary period of enjoyment. Conversely, a previous emotional lightheartedness will always yield to a current juxtaposition of pain. There can never be happiness without sadness, grief without joy, and bliss without those horrible thunderstorms that make the sun all more worthwhile.
Some people say that happiness is merely the remission of pain. It's true. Conversely, however, pain is the remission of happiness. Think about it.
From the depths of little-known rock culture comes The Darkness, a British group that canonizes 1970's glam rock, complete with falsetto shrieking, tight spandex outfits (with bellbottoms!), and of course, flashy guitar solos. Their music videos are quite frankly, some of the most bizarre stuff out there; pseudo-erotic surrealism that portrays the band in several different intangible forms.
In I Believe in a Thing Called Love, The Darkness portrays themselves as Star-Trek hippies battling giant squids. Yet the Growing on Me video is perhaps the strangest; a walking parody of itself involving pteradactlys, spaceships, and skimpy unitards that simply cannot be described. It is perhaps so bizarre, it must only be taken in small doses. Good luck.
Feeling strangely comfortable in a shelter that may have to last a while. My parents have retreated to their own quests for the weekend. It will be good.
"and it's okay if you have go away
just remember the telephone works both ways
and if I never ever hear it ring
if nothing else I'll think the bells inside
have finally found you someone else and that's okay
cause I'll remember everything you sang
you and I both loved what you and I spoke of
and others just read of and if you could see now
well I'm already finally out of words."
--excerpt from Jason Mraz, You and I Both
It's a pretty song, that's all.
I was reminded today of the precarious position that this site holds within the public view. I rather enjoy posting information. Besides, most of the comments affect myself in ways that are so vague, I doubt a large percent of the general populace even knows what I'm talking about. All information can't come back to haunt me at a later date, and as a result I certainly don't mind people reading.
I was thinking about how much I would like a bouquet of lollipops for Valentine's Day. The novelty of it all is so kitschy and spontaneous.
Then I realized, quite suddenly, that I didn't have any plans for next Saturday night. And it was an odd feeling.
The end.
Things I do not want to say, but have to say them anyway*:
Thus, this entire dating extravaganza that has lasted for several years is over, and all ties between myself and other parties have been broken. Whereas the previous "I love you, whoever you are, blah blah blah" sequence, followed by a shorter "I will date you maybe now?" sequence, has ended, this beginning is an oppertunity for rebirth and renewal. This conclusion is supported by the fact that the unrequited sadness involving others is definitely a large waste of my time. And thus, I halfheartedly proclaim that I will never think of a previous individual in a romantic or attachable sense ever again!
(Hint: I'm not talking about Tom.)
Furthermore, I realized this evening, after viewing a production of "Commedia Tonight" at the local high school (which was an excellent show, by the way), that I have not had more than a half dozen speaking lines in the double-digit amount of perfomances which I have participated. Either I am a horrible actress or I'm errrr...a fairly poor actress. It's not you, it's me.
As a result, though my self esteem has been lowered signifigantly, it's days like these where I could drive for miles and still return back to everyone that I will never forget.
In other news, the portrait for Ryan Rinkel will be completed shortly. Barrett's portrait is next. I'm exicted; I could begin a small rainbow-portrait empire soon, if I'm lucky.
*Who am I quoting? The first person who knows the answer gets a special surprise.
I believe that it is human nature to essentially be happy; even the most pessimistic of individuals are capable of seeing a brighter side of life. In addition, I believe that each person has the same amount of insecurities and low-self confidence as another. However, their interpretations and displays of these emotions are decidedly different, so that the most powerful leader is no different from a newborn baby. The strategies for masking their insecurities are so different, though, that we can sometimes lose the inability to decipher them. Yet among these theories, can one actually force oneself to be happy? That indeed is uncommon.
This power of pseudo-glee is involuntary, and is impossible to distinguish from other emotions. Personally, it is noticed merely when I pressure myself to be comfortable in situations among people that make me feel unwelcome. In addition, the emotion can be felt during brief periods of longing when I yearn for the people and situations that I have oh-so-subtly grown to miss.
I have wrapped so many lofty ideals around this concept of bliss that I cannot pick out the truth anymore. There is so much motivation present that is squashed down by the fundamental need to be cared for and loved. It is not narcissm, not is it obsessive-compulsive, but simply my mind and a looking glass upon the remainder of society.
This year has opened my eyes to the real world, the world that lies beyond homework and popularity and making out on the weekends if you're lucky. There is freedom, and yet so much pressure to find a niche. There is beauty, the type of simple wonder that cannot be encapsulated by neither a photograph nor a storybook. Most of all, there are people, filled with compassion and humor and pumped full of emotions; they seem to brighten and change the hues of this paint-by-numbers reality that is too often referred to as growing up. Some of them are surely the best people I will ever know, and I love them all.
Yet maturity, possibly the most difficult act to ever accomplish, is a varied journey that is taxing upon even the most valiant of spirits. I am certainly not there, and perhaps never will be; not until I can give up the incessant crave for other people and their satisfaction with myself. Continuously, the desire for affection remains my greatest weakness. Yet isn't that what we all want? To love and be loved?
I am not still a child, so young and impressionable and so easily corrupted. Instead, I fear that I may be the one manipulating others, because essentially, what I want has been growing for years. I am becoming rather desperate, as if I am stubbornly trying to hold together a straps of fabric that were never sewed together.
I want him. And thus, the paradox lies.
I stayed up half the night, but finally, here are the recent primary results state by state. John Kerry makes me sick.
Today's image celebrates the birthday of Gaston Julia, a French mathematician with an excellent name who, among other things, reserached the boundaries of n as it strays toward infinity in functions.
Google is my new best friend, as you can see from the recent posts. It has such a wide variety of programs and services availble without any price or advertisements, something that I think many people take for granted. In addition, downloading the Google toolbar includes features that block popups, as well as make blogging efficient. Thus, I praise Google for its excellent helpfullness as a friendly dominator of the search-engine stratosphere.
DoctorZebra.com has a notable Medical History of U.S. Presidents, from strained vocal cords to alcoholism to presidents that snored. Apparently Gerald Ford was clumsy, and George W. Bush cries. Who knew?
Google Talk brightens my day.
Some favorites:
"Howard Dean is the only way to go"
Google supports Dean, so should you.
"Lonely people Ah, Look at the University of California, All rights Reserved"
Apparently the Beatles produed a second version of Eleanor Rigby.
"Bethany Hill s prescription diet pills. online. Buy Propecia Online. Cheap Phentermine. Online Buy Propecia Online. Cheap Phentermine. Online Buy Propecia Online. Cheap Phentermine."
Perhaps I should go into marketing.
"Harry Potter and the Web Standards"
The title of the sixth book?
"Bethany and Tom we have been busy since the last time I saw Paris. The Hook- Ups, are available in the united States and Canada, A Guide to the Internet. and the World Wide Web. Conference Committee."
Everything relates back to GoPo
"The perfect boy Howard Roffman The Perfect Boy. Howard Roffman The Perfect Boy. Howard Roffman The Perfect Boy. Howard Roffman The Perfect Boy."
Howard Roffman, it turns out, is some illustrious "male erotic" photographer. How charming.