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2728
Adobe Photoshop v7.0, Microsoft Paint v5.1, ACDSee v3.1
Pretty picture with stripes.
Boredom is the enemy of the people.
Think about how much each one of us could accomplish if we simply had the motivation. The trick is discovering the passion for a particular subject within oneself. If we all could simply give one hundred and ten percent to everything, then the world would be a better place, and people would certainly feel more confident about themselves.
But human nature calls for us to all be lazy, until we find a few areas that really float our boat. The varying likes and dislikes of humanity ultimately create a well rounded society.
So maybe, a little boredom makes the world go around.
Guess who's probably going to be "watching over" Warren's bass for two months.
Watch out world.
Also, getting the Franz Ferdinand CD as soon as I can get to a music store.
Darts of Pleasure
British news site The Guardian has a report on the gross increase of obesity in British schoolchildren. As fast food chains oligarchize the restaurant industry today, more and more citizens are turning to fat-loaded means of stuffing their faces. While experts are trying to help children by creating several healthy-living classes, over twenty kids have to put on respirators each night before they fall asleep, so that their throat muscles will not collapse under weight.
The food industry isn't helping either. According to the article, "Chocolate manufacturer Cadbury came to The Observer with a proposal for a 'good news' story about how it was helping schoolchildren become much healthier. Its Get Active Campaign encouraged them to collect tokens from chocolate bars in exchange for sports equipment. It had managed to get the scheme endorsed by no less than Richard Caborn, the sports minister, apparently with the backing of Tony Blair. But, as we revealed, it became clear that you would need to buy thousands of bars to get any equipment."
Obesity--a weighty problem that's bigger than we thought.
I'm definitely a sheltered child...
Anyone want to help shed some light on the sexual connotations of
jelly bracelets? Apparently, numerous schools in South Carolina--including, more recently, several elementary schools have banned the bracelets because they are provoking sexual relationships among students. According to the article, "In a game called 'snap,' a boy breaks a jelly bracelet off a girl’s wrist. The color of the bracelet represents a specific sexual activity..."
According to the official site (can you believe there is one?), these so called "sex bracelets" originated at frat parties and are meant to be kept there...middle and elementary school students just wear the bracelets to fit in with the masses. PersonallyI doubt anyone wearing the bracelets are going to take their symbolism seriously, and if they do, they're probably to engage in sexual activity anyway. Seems like those crazy South Carolinians are making a mountain out of a molehill.
Anansi!
In the first set of Spidaaah Stories:
Top row (from left): Lance (Mmboro the Hornet), Faegan (Moatia the Fairy I), Maddy (Onini the Python & Narrator), Stephanie (Anansi's Wife Aso), Claire (Osebo the Leopard), Ryan (Anansi), Erin (Narrator)
Bottom row: Ruth (Moatia the Fairy II), me (Nyame, the God)
Life is like a man in a salad. Scary but healthy.
Photo credit Nathan Beach.
It's one thing to lose an election...but it's another thing to be excommunicated from your party even before the elections begin. Poor NC House Co-Speaker Richard Morgan has been recently shafted from the Republican party for the next five years. The article states,
"The conservative wing said Morgan since has betrayed the party in his work with Democrats, favoring the 15 or so Republicans who side with him by handing them key committee posts and leaving the rest of the GOP representatives in the cold. They also accuse him of recruiting candidates to run against Republican legislators."
Poor guy....it sounds like he was just trying to make friends. I suppose the GOP just wanted anything short of total polarization.
Can't we all just get along?
This afternoon I decided to go see Troy, expecting three hours of testosterone-pumped Grecian action. It did not disappoint. The theatre was crowded mostly with middle-aged men, who occasionally clapped during significant battle scenes. Constrastingly, perhaps, from the normal teenage girl stereotype, I did NOT simply come to see Brad Pitt or Orlando Bloom (really, they're not that attractive) but to get the adrenaline rush from the gigantic war footage. Plus, from my Latin language background, it was sort of like seeing a violent bedtime story after reading and translating the familiar stories over and over again.
Without a doubt, the best actor in the film was Peter O'Toole, who plays Priam, the father of Paris and Hector, and the king of Troy. The single most powerful scene within the entire movie is simply a shot of Peter's face as he watches his entire city burn. His sad blue eyes seem to haunt the screen as he begins to weep. It was spectacular.
And the fights! The fight between Achilles and Hector was laced in just the right amount of tension to make me clench my fists and want to close my eyes. Ah, they were conveyed with the right amount of panache! The best part was then the Trojans tooks these giant bundles of hay, set them rolling on an incline towards the Greek camp, and then caught them on fire! It's definitely one of the best techniques--the giant fireballs are easily mobile, dangerous, harm none of the defending side, AND easy to clean up afterwards.
The only aspect that the film lacks is humor. After three hours of battle upon battle, it began to get rather repetitive. There was no aspect to break the tension, no comic relief to serve as a foil for more serious moments. But hey, that was Troy's only Achille's heel. Ba dum bssh.
This film encompasses all sorts of themes of honor, humanity, and power. Still, don't go to have a good time...just to walk out of a theatre with a great desire to be part of some great epic that will be told thousands of years later. I would go see it again, though, definitely. Hopefully that will happen sometime soon.
Isn't it creepy when your past comes back to haunt you? John Muir once said, "When you try to pick out one thing, you find it connected to everything else in the universe". I couldn't agree more.
Classic example: In fifth grade, I teased this kid so much I was suspended (crazy, I know). A few weeks later, it turned out that his best friend, a fellow presumably by the name of Josh McMillan, was desperately in love with me--as fifth graders often are--and sent me 14k gold heart earrings from Wal-Mart, even though my ears weren't pierced. As a result, I was not only teased by my peers, but felt indignant as the tables were turned.
The moral of the story is to be nice to everyone. Though it may sound cliche, and certainly not entirely feesible, try to at least be civil in all situations. Personally, I learned the hard way that people are connected in the oddest fashions. It's the ten levels of separation--everyone knows everyone else in the world by ten people. Thus,you could know everyone and simply not know it. And that is certainly an encouraging thought.
I hope you understand what I'm trying to say...just that my daily words of advice involve the practice of courtesy to all people, and never taking sides. Otherwise, you may not enjoy where you end up eventually.
....Or it could all make a fantabulous screwball comedy movie.
Prom, anyone?
This is a pretty ugly picture that really doesn't do the location justice.
Well, the flourescent lights would be off, of course, and replaced with a fantastic sound and lights system. The balcony would be open with a view of the city skyline, and almost entirely covered in lots of decorations and other tiddlywinks. Of the room pictured, one wall is entirely mirrors, and the other is draped in cloth.. The chairs would be removed from the wall and put outside. White holiday lights are provided, as are large stars hanging from the ceiling, and lots of white tulle. There are also two additional, much smaller, rooms which are not pictured.
The boundless aspects and logistics to consider about next April's extravaganza are enough to make anyone go insane. Yet I'm determined to do a wonderful job, with your help. Let's get started, shall we?
By the way, this post is in response to Gone with the Wind. Sheesh.
Everyone is constantly after what they cannot have. Humans are so preoccupied chasing after limitless ideals that they often fail to recognize the true possessions which have been bequeathed to themselves. How often have we lusted after some sort of object simply because it's the one thing that remains just out of our grasp? It is much more enthralling to think of what we are missing, perhaps--or what we could be. In particular, this chasing after other individuals is quite silly in practice and embarrassing in manner. We cannot merely trade one for another. All that we must have is that which is allotted to us. Too often, individuals fail to take into account all of the fortunes that we have been blessed with, rather, it is more enjoyable--and certainly more motivational--to focus on goals which we have not yet achieved.
However, the apathy that spurs from such statements could possibly serve as a detriment against the passion of life. Could we actually enjoy something if we knew it was the best we could get? Personally, rather than embracing the fact, I would feel rather constrained to aquaintances, never really being able to strengthen as a whole, and gradually losing all reckoning of progress in life. There is a irreversible hunger that oscillates against the sides of the stomach for such desires, even throbs the temples at the agony that we must always bear the cross of regret for things that could never be. I don't claim to know what the feeling is, but I wish it would go away. It is much too tiring to continue wishing after circumstances that will seemingly never come into play again.
In other light, is apologizing for such cravings simply human nature? In a rare bout of paranoia, I lack the power to disenfranchise the voice that shouts the truth--all we really want is to please ourselves. After all, happiness is not always achieved easily. Where does the discomfort end? Knowing that the remorse still remains for prior discredited obligations, it seems that the only way to regain something is to repent from it.
One could get nowhere without daydreams.
I still wonder if this was really all for the best. Or if I'm going crazy.
So, if you're lonely, you know I'm here waiting for you. I'm just a crosshair, just a shot away from you; but if you leave here, you leave me broken, shattered, I lie. We're just a crosshair, I'm just a shot, then we can die.
I know I won't be leaving here with you.
I say, you don't know. You say you don't know. I say, take me out.
--Take Me Out, Franz Ferdinand
That music video rocks the socks off any others.
Definitely just had one of the best days ever.
Slept until noon.
Won first place in my teacher's piano achievement contest!
Performed Anansi.
Indian food for dinner.
70% off lambswool sweaters at Benetton.
80's night on the radio station.
Chocolate milkshakes.
Out with Warren for uh, 3 hours?
In other news, five of my good friends just broke up with their significant others*
within a 24 hour period.
Diagnosis: Summer fever is spreading like kudzu.
*McCall gets props for catching the typo.
Blog poetry!
Go through your old posts and copy and past random lines in their entirely. It's what the cool kids do at 2 AM.
simply run up to an attractive individual. Quickly, while they are too shocked to
be allowed to swoon over such trivialities as a good song on the radio, an absence
pipe, and lots of tweed jackets, I think. There is something so intruiging about
fashioned ironing. I think some people would love to pay me large sums of money
downtown--with excellent fluffy beds and even better food. Everyone was excited--
healthy, the constant building up of emotions is mentally exhausting
really count; I was 12 and too young for that kind of lovey-dovey stuff anyway.
suddenly become so much better, and I want to retain that feeling, without
trying to hold together a straps of fabric that were never sewed together.
ce jour-là il est tombé amoureux
loss is the decrease in student liberties while on campus, as well as the inability for
strong feeling about may be embellished by our minds, sensationalizing each
joy, and bliss without those horrible thunderstorms that make the sun all more
love, yet look at the world as if everyone is simply jaded for not loving themselves.
been standing at a crossroads for the last year and finally, I've come out of it. Since
contain varied experiences of new situations. If you spend these years alone and
Perhaps our subconscious desires to melodrama situations is the cause for the pain
a passage in the Bible about moving sofas.
youknowwho417: you pleasure yourself with a vacuum cleaner!
post-modernism and such.
A Quiet Rant
Look! It can barely fit on the road! How the hell is it supposed to turn?
Alright, whoever said that the third time was a charm deserves to be punched in the face. Preferably then beaten with a blunt object.
Oh no, but of course the story doesn't begin here. You see, I had taken the classroom portion of drivers' ed two years ago--roughly twice the timespan from that of the normal individual. I passed that with flying colors. However, while I was on the waiting list to take the driving portion, my drivers education teacher died. Don't worry, it was a heart attack that I'm sure had nothing to do with a student--or me. So I had to wait eight months between portions of drivers ed.
I finally succeeded in obtaining my permit during a snow day, two months after I turned fifteen. At this point, I was still farther along the path to driving than most of my peers, because they had later birthdays. Yet there was another curve in this road of learning--both of my family's cars were of the manual transmission variety. After several failed attempts, many of which resulted in a burst into tears when I was once again stopping traffic in the middle of a busy intersection, I gave up. Heck, I had only spent a total of six hours driving a car--and I didn't do too well then either.
So my parents bought a minivan from Bekka's family in December. It was a comfortable Toyota Sienna, full of life and air conditioning. I immediately took a liking to it, and enjoying driving everywhere.
Though January rolled around, my parents would not take me to the DMV because of their conflicting work schedules. I had to wait until Spring Break, almost three months later, before I could actually walk into the driver's license office and take the driving test. So most of my friends who were months younger than me where getting licenses--I didn't care.
...Except when I stopped right in front of the stop sign. I pulled up to the white line smoothly, only to discover to my horror that there a stop sign glaring besides my side mirror. Automatic failure--and an offense that would cost three points on my imaginary license. I had to wait thirty days before taking the test again, because my license would have been revoked, had I actually had one.
The second time I tried was just pitiful. I drove too close to the center of the road--when the roads had no center lines. The poor policeman, hungry right before his lunch break, was cranky.
So today, I decided to try again. My mother picked me up shortly after my AP exam, and we proceeded to the Garner DMV. Upon reaching the office, a curt woman told us that our insurance form was void because it expires after a thirty day period. We asked if we could possibly call or fax our insurance provider, and she refused. Angry and hurt, we drove for over an hour to our Leesville Road insurance office (across the county), and obtained the form. I stopped at McDonalds to get my mommy some lunch. Then, after much argument, I agreed to take the test at the dreaded Capital Boulevard DMV.
It was perfect. The test was glorious! I even made a three point turn in the minivan! It was so beautiful, I almost cried. Then, on the returning U Turn back to the DMV, I pulled slowly ahead to execute my U Turn--a short bit (not more than a few precise) past the white line of the intersection. Unfortunately, the light then turned red. I had come to a stop beyond the white line--an automatic failure. The woman who was in the car with me even felt bad, and told me that I had no other errors. I composed my dignity until I was alone in my now-abhorred minivan, and burst into tears. Again.
Failed? How the hell can I fail my drivers test three times? It boggles the mind. At this rate, I could probably devise a physics problem about U Turns into oncoming traffic, create a three-act comedic musical about it, and cast one hundred and thirty six of my closest friends to perform it on Broadway before I'm actually going to make one successfully.
The moral of the story is: don't trust the lines. They are tricksters, those lines, and will bring your failure every time. Whether they are forwards or sideways, they always mean trouble.
Stream of consciousness?
Lately there has been just cause for an increase in risk taking and security. As a result, selfish tendencies have begun to arise. Yet maybe we shouldn't have to spell our names. There is some comfort in knowing that favorable impressions may continue as long as certain behaviors go unrecognized. Besides, long term benefits of a situation may ultimately result in gains and respects. Isn't that what we all want? I've got a strong case of Scarlett O'Hara syndrome and it's all becoming very silly indeed. Watch out world.
Staring behind the blank windowpane
She watches as floral and Tuscan summer prints
Crowd enormous thighs
And conquer the seat beneath her
The pearls rebel against a freckled neckline
Struggling in melanin and E
Cocking her head to juxtapose
The nonchalance of her partner.
He watches all of the women
An addict for pleats and the letter V
Victoria Veronica Vixen
Vavavoom
In slow motion
Her hands touch her lips
Both undergoing cosmetic fallacies
If everyone was alone
How would the beauticians feel?
She sips the last coffee, colorless
(So as not to stain any teeth
or graces)
And retreats into the pastel field
Of her pants.
Perhaps staring at her hands
Could will herself to brush the crumbs off her bespeckled cleavage.
He did not notice
And stared at the blushing cheeks of car brakes outside the window,
As the zealous vehicles kiss bumpers sweetly
Compelled to stop.
Just as the year is slowly progressing towards its anti-climactic demise, I have finally come to understand what may the largest issues facing high schoolers today: bad yearbook messages.
None of the grades at any high school are completely devoid of cliques. Each has its own own particular social stratospheres that collide and bounce off one another like those in a ball pit at McDonalds. Occasionally, as cheap balls surrounded slobbering children tend to do, these brightly colored tiny worlds of friends stick together and the borders are difficult to perceive. Yet generally--and its not the fault of anyone--everyone has their own particular group of friends. There may be individuals who you greet in the hallway, compliment them, as respect them as a person, but who may have no catchy inside jokes to write inside your yearbook. Instead, these people write some silly mumbo-jumbo like "HAGS" or "See you next year".
Even sillier is "Call me! 846-6011" or some other random number. That part doesn't quite make much sense to me--if I had never talked to you throughout the last ten months of my life, why should I call you when I'll most likely be gone half the summer? You're hopefully not going to reside at the same number years in the future, it's merely tatooing the skin of my yearbook insides. How do I know it's your real number anyway? Why, I'm tempted to just leave the phone number of Dominos next to my name, and call at the end of the summer, asking how many people asked for a Bethany. Theorectically, of course, I suppose some possible suitor or lover may write their phone number as a last-ditch plea for a relationship...but wouldn't this person see their soulmate in two months? On that note, I think summer relationships are quite frivolous. But that's another subject entirely.
The best message to write in a yearbook is a detail or perhaps summary of an amusing anecdote of a particular instant. Even a compliment ("You're really cool and nice!" excluded) could satisfactorily present a charming yearbook entry. If you and the yearbook's owner had any classes together, for instance, a quick jot or a memory could make the owner smile years later ("Remember when Mr.Grunden made that pickle glow?"). For the creative, try connecting the individual with an even less tangible event. ("Your pickle makes me glow" suddenly entered my mind. Catchy, but sort of creepy.)
Most importantly, write an entry that sets you apart from the crowd. Personally, I know that one of the best entries I've receieved is from Hannah, who simply cited my enthusiasm and energy as producing a sort of aura. It was duly appreciated, and I certainly thought much more highly of Hannah afterwards (though I did think highly of her before as well). Write how you feel...something that on lazy summer days the owner can reread and smile.
.......Although, uh, I wouldn't mind a phone number in my yearbook that much.
It's hard to give up the world you never thought you'd need.
On that note, I invite you to discover the wonderful world of Sondre Lerche, the soft voice and happy-go-lucky melodies that leaves John Mayer and those other silly cads to shame. With subtle folk and rock influences, twenty-one year old Sondre, originally from Norway, has played guitar since he was younger than my brother. A few small EPs introduced him to Norweigan audiences, but deliberately held off the release of album until he finished high school.
About his new album, recently released in March Sondre says, “This time I felt I’d proved I could write tidy, well-crafted pop songs. I wanted to challenge myself more and to write songs that were less predictable in structure and more relaxed. I think the songs are intrinsically richer and more diverse. But I tried to give them space to breathe. I wanted to let the air fill the songs. So I made it a bit more minimalist.”
We can't reclaim the shirts we threw away last twirl
Uncurl the note-in-pocket, personal brochures that dust
Machine-washed, that's how paper rusts
--Two-Way Monologue
Watch the video here
Let's go back to the old time, baby
Before the world was painted gray
I'll meet you on the northwest platform
Halfway to the Milky Way
Sickness causes fevers which can be inversely pleasing to the subconscious. I dreamt last night that I had become a world-renowned florist. I lived in a house of flowers and gave out corsages to all of my friends in the midst of a downpour. Steam was rising off the hot asphalt and all I could sense was the lush smell of roses.
I've been feeling more salacious lately...warm weather, listening to rap music, and reading "Gone With The Wind" has seemed to affect my brain.
Anyone who hasn't read Gone With The Wind is certainly missing one of the best novels of all time. It's better than a chick-flick and homemade puppy chow for rainy days. Initially the book presents a pragmatic look at Confederate plantation lifestyle...but delves deeper into the emotional paradoxes of characters and the societal hypocrises of the time. Quite an interesting read. I'd advocate that we read it for school, except that it's over 1,000 pages.
In addition, I ended up attending an office party of my father's today which proved to immensely enjoyable. Volunteers had set up a giant maypole in the center of a renovated historic home, where the second floor had been completely gutted and removed so that the massive exposed beams and cathedral ceiling could be shown. I watched in delight as the city manager, commissioner, and several city council members all danced around the maypole. Afterwards, I chatted with the wife of Neal Hunt, the Republican at-large city council member. She expressed a great interest in my art, and we somehow ended up in a discussion about the factors that determine political participation. It was very intruiging that although the foundations of her beliefs were rooted in her family, she had chosen to become a self-proclaimed conservative.
Puppy Chow
3/4 cup peanut butter
1 cup chocolate chips
1/4 cup butter
8 cups Crispix cereal
2 cups powdered sugar
Melt the peanut butter, chocolate chips, and butter together. Pour over the cereal in a large kettle or bowl and stir well. Pour the powdered sugar into a large brown paper bag and add the cereal. Fold the bag to seal and shake well to coat evenly. Or, just pour the chocolate mixture in the bag first..and shake it like a Polaroid picture two times.