I am in supposedly the "Friendliest Airport on Earth," ready to depart for Washington D.C. and the People to People World Leadership (founded by Dwight D. Eisenhower, and led by all presidents since, as all delegates will proudly tell you).
Well, this very friendly airport also conveniently offers free WiFi, so, here I am, talking to you.
One of the best parts of this week long program (admittedly, I can't know too much about the best parts, since it hasn't even started yet) is the fact that this trip involves no parents whatsoever. I was dropped off at security this morning, my parents spied on me through the glass doors up through until security was over, and then I was free of them. I won't see them until Saturday. Of course, this isn't all good. I will miss them a lot, but it IS nice to get away from the hustle and bustle and angriness and yelling and screaming and stuff for at least a week. I'm sure I'll have my own adventures and excitement, but all in all, i think it'll be fairly relaxing compared to my daily life.
For example, my uncle is in town, and has been for the past few months. In fact, he'll probably be staying here permanently. He's been sleeping alternatively on our couch and in my grandma's garage. He used to live in a different state, and rarely visited, but he's back, now, and draining even more money than ever. For what seems like decades we have been supporting him, but now it's gotten even better! He apparently has Hepatitis C, and it's probably going to kill him. And his girlfriend is literally insane- she hears voices and stuff like that. And he eats up money like cottage cheese.
So, I'm not thinking very happy thoughts in the Happiest Airport on Earth.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
UGHH.
Well, i just wrote a beautiful, eloquent, wonderful post, and then accidently selected the whole thing with my laptop mouse and deleted it all. And there's no way to get it back. So, you don't get a beautiful eloquent post today.
Spring Break!
Well, today didn't amount to much. I woke up late (11 am), went back to bed, stayed in my pajamas until 2 pm., and didn't leave the house all afternoon, nor did I brush my teeth all day. But it's all ok, because it's the first day of Spring Break!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Read or die.
Shout out to only and favorite follower CJ. Hi and thanks CJ!
Anyways.
I guess I'll talk about another aspect of my personality, a part that figures prominintly in my life- reading. I absolutely love to read. Many of the people my age despise reading; that's what too much school does for you- they think of books and they think of hard work and boring and homework. Alternatively, I think of books and I think of happiness and learning and knowledge and inspiration.
Reading is such an important part of my life. My parents read to me ever since I was very young, and I have been reading since I was very young. Actually, when I was in first grade, I read the Lord of the Rings (by myself). Books and reading are such a great way to learn; no studying, no homework, just learning through experience. The more you read, the better you write. And you learn information through reading, especially if you read nonfic or historical fic. I do well in school mainly because I have plenty of background information on Social Studies, art, Language Arts...
As far as types of books, I love fantasy. I have always loved fantasy. My favorite authors are Tamora Pierce, J.R.R. Tolkien, J.K. Rowling, and Esther Friesner.
Tamora Pierce wrote books like Alanna: The First Adventure, The Woman Who Rode Like A Man, Lioness Rampant, Trickster's Choice, etc. She is probably my favorite. I absolutely love everything by her. Her characters, especially the protagonists (courageous, independent heroines) are really inspirational, and the writing style is fantastic.
J.R.R. Tolkien wrote The Lord of the Rings trilogy, obviously. These are one of the first books I can actually remember reading, and I still love them years later. Whenever I'm feeling down, I just read a chapter of the Return of the King and I feel much better. I always carry my worn, dirty, written on, covered in stickers copy whenever I travel. I have the One Ring Poem and the Hobbit's Walking Song both memorized. And Tom Bombadil and Legolas are amazing.
J.K. Rowling. Harry Potter FTW.
Esther Freisner wrote Nobody's Princess, Nobody's Prize, and Sphinx's Princess, all historical fiction novels. The first two are written about Helen of Troy, and the last one is written about Nefertiti. I absolutely loved them both. Helen of Troy AND Nefertiti are always thought of as rather uninteresting, not very admirable people, but these books really put the characters in a whole new light. All three books are written in first person. Of the two on Helen of Troy, Nobody's Princess comes first.
Read the books. Support the authors. Support literature. Read to someone, even an adult. I read to my parents all the time. I enjoyed The Book Thief so much, I'm reading it to my mom now.
Read.
Anyways.
I guess I'll talk about another aspect of my personality, a part that figures prominintly in my life- reading. I absolutely love to read. Many of the people my age despise reading; that's what too much school does for you- they think of books and they think of hard work and boring and homework. Alternatively, I think of books and I think of happiness and learning and knowledge and inspiration.
Reading is such an important part of my life. My parents read to me ever since I was very young, and I have been reading since I was very young. Actually, when I was in first grade, I read the Lord of the Rings (by myself). Books and reading are such a great way to learn; no studying, no homework, just learning through experience. The more you read, the better you write. And you learn information through reading, especially if you read nonfic or historical fic. I do well in school mainly because I have plenty of background information on Social Studies, art, Language Arts...
As far as types of books, I love fantasy. I have always loved fantasy. My favorite authors are Tamora Pierce, J.R.R. Tolkien, J.K. Rowling, and Esther Friesner.
Tamora Pierce wrote books like Alanna: The First Adventure, The Woman Who Rode Like A Man, Lioness Rampant, Trickster's Choice, etc. She is probably my favorite. I absolutely love everything by her. Her characters, especially the protagonists (courageous, independent heroines) are really inspirational, and the writing style is fantastic.
J.R.R. Tolkien wrote The Lord of the Rings trilogy, obviously. These are one of the first books I can actually remember reading, and I still love them years later. Whenever I'm feeling down, I just read a chapter of the Return of the King and I feel much better. I always carry my worn, dirty, written on, covered in stickers copy whenever I travel. I have the One Ring Poem and the Hobbit's Walking Song both memorized. And Tom Bombadil and Legolas are amazing.
J.K. Rowling. Harry Potter FTW.
Esther Freisner wrote Nobody's Princess, Nobody's Prize, and Sphinx's Princess, all historical fiction novels. The first two are written about Helen of Troy, and the last one is written about Nefertiti. I absolutely loved them both. Helen of Troy AND Nefertiti are always thought of as rather uninteresting, not very admirable people, but these books really put the characters in a whole new light. All three books are written in first person. Of the two on Helen of Troy, Nobody's Princess comes first.
Read the books. Support the authors. Support literature. Read to someone, even an adult. I read to my parents all the time. I enjoyed The Book Thief so much, I'm reading it to my mom now.
Read.
Flamenco. Ole.
Well, I suppose I will continue to talk about different parts of my description because you all have certainly seen enough of the moody teenage girl for a bit. Who wants to read a blog about me complaining constantly?
(By the way, as far as complaining goes, my mom called me a b**ch today and told me that she hated me and everyone else. I told her that if she hated everyone, they probably felt the same way about her.)
Today I'll talk about flamenco. As you may be able to tell from my profile picture, I love flamenco. Flamenco is a dance form that comes from Spain. It's basically a mix of Spanish classical dance (which involves castanets) and gypsy dance. And it's amazingly awesome. It's native to the region of Andalusia, Spain, and is accompanied by live guitar and a drum like instrument called the cajon.
Other instruments involved are castanets (which are technically Spanish classical, not flamenco) and the shoes the dancers wear, which have nails in the toe and heel so as to make a clicking noise. This noise is achieved by performing on a wooden floor with a scalloped bottom so as to allow the sound to vibrate. There are a couple of different sounds and ways to "stomp" the floor with the shoes- the golpe, using the whole foot, the planta, with just the toe, and the tacon, with just the heel.
An interesting part of flamenco is that the guitarist follows the dancer, not the other way round. The dancer chooses whether to speed up or slow down the music, and when the dance is over. All real flamenco is done solo and entirely improvised, although most (beginning) students will have some set choreographies they know, and might dance these with other people at certain events.
The hair and makeup for flamenco involves huge hoop earrings, lots of stage makeup, hair in a low bun covered with a snood (like a hairnet but prettier), and a large flower, usually a rose. Traditional clothing involves a polka dot dress with a double/triple ruffled skirt, and a sash. More relaxed or modern clothing involves leggings, a red or black practice skirt that is about ankle length and has two/three ruffles, and a sash (or not), as well as something like a tank top or leotard.
As far as the actual dance goes, it mainly consists of footwork and armwork. Traditionally, girls do mostly armwork and guys do mainly footwork, but I really prefer footwork. Armwork is graceful, slow, and painful. To truly do flamenco, you must be passionate about it and make every.... move.... slow.... deliberate..... aching..... painful..... In Spain, arm classes last for a few hours, but I only do arm work for about 20 minutes per class. Footwork is really a lot of fun, but there's not much I can do to explain it without showing you.
FLAMENCO IS NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH FLAMINGOS. Flamenco is dance, flamingos are birds.
(By the way, as far as complaining goes, my mom called me a b**ch today and told me that she hated me and everyone else. I told her that if she hated everyone, they probably felt the same way about her.)
Today I'll talk about flamenco. As you may be able to tell from my profile picture, I love flamenco. Flamenco is a dance form that comes from Spain. It's basically a mix of Spanish classical dance (which involves castanets) and gypsy dance. And it's amazingly awesome. It's native to the region of Andalusia, Spain, and is accompanied by live guitar and a drum like instrument called the cajon.
Other instruments involved are castanets (which are technically Spanish classical, not flamenco) and the shoes the dancers wear, which have nails in the toe and heel so as to make a clicking noise. This noise is achieved by performing on a wooden floor with a scalloped bottom so as to allow the sound to vibrate. There are a couple of different sounds and ways to "stomp" the floor with the shoes- the golpe, using the whole foot, the planta, with just the toe, and the tacon, with just the heel.
An interesting part of flamenco is that the guitarist follows the dancer, not the other way round. The dancer chooses whether to speed up or slow down the music, and when the dance is over. All real flamenco is done solo and entirely improvised, although most (beginning) students will have some set choreographies they know, and might dance these with other people at certain events.
The hair and makeup for flamenco involves huge hoop earrings, lots of stage makeup, hair in a low bun covered with a snood (like a hairnet but prettier), and a large flower, usually a rose. Traditional clothing involves a polka dot dress with a double/triple ruffled skirt, and a sash. More relaxed or modern clothing involves leggings, a red or black practice skirt that is about ankle length and has two/three ruffles, and a sash (or not), as well as something like a tank top or leotard.
As far as the actual dance goes, it mainly consists of footwork and armwork. Traditionally, girls do mostly armwork and guys do mainly footwork, but I really prefer footwork. Armwork is graceful, slow, and painful. To truly do flamenco, you must be passionate about it and make every.... move.... slow.... deliberate..... aching..... painful..... In Spain, arm classes last for a few hours, but I only do arm work for about 20 minutes per class. Footwork is really a lot of fun, but there's not much I can do to explain it without showing you.
FLAMENCO IS NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH FLAMINGOS. Flamenco is dance, flamingos are birds.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Vegetarianism.
Now, I know this is mentioned in my "About Me" section, but I think I will elaborate a little more about some aspects of that. Like vegetarianism, for example.
I am a vegetarian. I have been for almost five years now. I was a pescatarian for the first few years- I would eat fish and shrimp and some other (responsible and non-threatened) seafood. For the -past- few years, though, I have been a just plain simple vegetarian. I suppose if you want to make it confusing, I'm an ovo-lacto vegetarian, because I eat eggs and dairy, but isn't that still included in vegetarianism? Vegans don't eat eggs, dairy, or any animal products at all, but most other vegetarians besides vegans eat honey and eggs and milk and stuff. (Well, not eat milk, but still....)
People always ask me why I became a vegetarian. The answer is pretty complicated, actually, and it changes depending on the audience and the time available. There really isn't just one reason why I became a veggie; it's more of a mix between a couple of reasons.
1) Environmental aspects- This should be clear. It just plain takes less energy and less steps to process vegetable matter compared to meat matter. And there's the whole grazing thing- the rainforest is partly being chopped down to make room for cows, which then turn into someone's hamburger.
2) It's just plain gross- you're eating that thing. It's dead. Someone killed it. EW. I mean, I understand it if you are in a situation as humans have faced throughout our evolution, but nowadays, in my society, I don't need to eat meat to survive (clearly). So, I don't really want to. If I'm not willing to stab and gut it, I'm not willing to eat it.
3) Overpopulation and overuse- Most of us know that over-fishing is a serious issue, if not as important as some other more pressing things. The same goes for certain meats- buffalo, etc. Not neccesarily steak, but others. And the area in which they are raised is overused; I think I have already mentioned some of the rainforest problems. People ate meat for thousands of years, yes, and it was entirely sustainable (for the most part), yes. But there were much fewer people then, and overpopulation was not such a problem.
4) Health- For the most part, it's healthier not to eat meat.
5) Religious- My religion teaches me to be in harmony and appreciate all other inhabitants of this earth. That includes animals. That means (to me) don't kill and eat them.
*TO MAKE SOMETHING VERY CLEAR*
I do my best not to be one of those snooty, self-righteous, better-than-thou vegetarians. I sometimes seem like I'm getting that way, but I assure you that that isn't my intention. I was just trying to explain why I'm veggie, not that it is the right choice for you, or that just becuase you aren't veggie you are a worse person than me. I DO NOT THINK THAT VEGETARIANS ARE BETTER PEOPLE THAN MEAT-EATERS.
I actually have no vegetarian friends, so there you go.
I am a vegetarian. I have been for almost five years now. I was a pescatarian for the first few years- I would eat fish and shrimp and some other (responsible and non-threatened) seafood. For the -past- few years, though, I have been a just plain simple vegetarian. I suppose if you want to make it confusing, I'm an ovo-lacto vegetarian, because I eat eggs and dairy, but isn't that still included in vegetarianism? Vegans don't eat eggs, dairy, or any animal products at all, but most other vegetarians besides vegans eat honey and eggs and milk and stuff. (Well, not eat milk, but still....)
People always ask me why I became a vegetarian. The answer is pretty complicated, actually, and it changes depending on the audience and the time available. There really isn't just one reason why I became a veggie; it's more of a mix between a couple of reasons.
1) Environmental aspects- This should be clear. It just plain takes less energy and less steps to process vegetable matter compared to meat matter. And there's the whole grazing thing- the rainforest is partly being chopped down to make room for cows, which then turn into someone's hamburger.
2) It's just plain gross- you're eating that thing. It's dead. Someone killed it. EW. I mean, I understand it if you are in a situation as humans have faced throughout our evolution, but nowadays, in my society, I don't need to eat meat to survive (clearly). So, I don't really want to. If I'm not willing to stab and gut it, I'm not willing to eat it.
3) Overpopulation and overuse- Most of us know that over-fishing is a serious issue, if not as important as some other more pressing things. The same goes for certain meats- buffalo, etc. Not neccesarily steak, but others. And the area in which they are raised is overused; I think I have already mentioned some of the rainforest problems. People ate meat for thousands of years, yes, and it was entirely sustainable (for the most part), yes. But there were much fewer people then, and overpopulation was not such a problem.
4) Health- For the most part, it's healthier not to eat meat.
5) Religious- My religion teaches me to be in harmony and appreciate all other inhabitants of this earth. That includes animals. That means (to me) don't kill and eat them.
*TO MAKE SOMETHING VERY CLEAR*
I do my best not to be one of those snooty, self-righteous, better-than-thou vegetarians. I sometimes seem like I'm getting that way, but I assure you that that isn't my intention. I was just trying to explain why I'm veggie, not that it is the right choice for you, or that just becuase you aren't veggie you are a worse person than me. I DO NOT THINK THAT VEGETARIANS ARE BETTER PEOPLE THAN MEAT-EATERS.
I actually have no vegetarian friends, so there you go.
Free Day, Field Day.
It's late at night. I'm typing on my laptop by the light of my new headlamp. Harry Potter and the click of the computer keys and the faint snores from my parent's room are the only sounds in the house. The pink background on my laptop is blinding. I simply cannot fall asleep.
Tomorrow is Field Day. Each advisory is assigned a country, and each country consists of an advisory from each grade level. My advisory is Spain. Go Spain. Spain is live Gryffindor; the same colors (red, gold) and the same symbol (the lion). I get to wear free dress (in red and gold) tomorrow, and we have the entire last half of the day to just play games.
The first half of the day, the upper school members of our school's section of the Kiwanis Club (Builder's Club) gets to go to a food bank and help out in the morning, therefore missing all of our morning classes. So, basically, tomorrow is a freebie. And I get 2+ more hours for NJHS, meaning I will have reached my requirement for the month.
I suppose I will write another post in a minute if I can. I wouldn't want to mix categories.
Tomorrow is Field Day. Each advisory is assigned a country, and each country consists of an advisory from each grade level. My advisory is Spain. Go Spain. Spain is live Gryffindor; the same colors (red, gold) and the same symbol (the lion). I get to wear free dress (in red and gold) tomorrow, and we have the entire last half of the day to just play games.
The first half of the day, the upper school members of our school's section of the Kiwanis Club (Builder's Club) gets to go to a food bank and help out in the morning, therefore missing all of our morning classes. So, basically, tomorrow is a freebie. And I get 2+ more hours for NJHS, meaning I will have reached my requirement for the month.
I suppose I will write another post in a minute if I can. I wouldn't want to mix categories.
Hair and teeth.
Orthodontist and hair cut today, as well as school. Orthodontist was painful, as can be expected, but surprisingly rewarding. Braces off in another month! I've had them on for four years now, and I'm quite eager to be rid of them, but a little worried about what I'll find. I hope my teeth aren't too stained, and I hope it won't hurt to pull them off. And by now, braces have become almost part of my identity. I don't know what I'll look like without them.
As far as haircut, well, that's another change in my appearance. It's quite a bit shorter now, and layered. I like it a lot, and my Facebook friends tend to agree. Not that they really matter. I was ready for a hairstyle change, and now I've got one.
As far as haircut, well, that's another change in my appearance. It's quite a bit shorter now, and layered. I like it a lot, and my Facebook friends tend to agree. Not that they really matter. I was ready for a hairstyle change, and now I've got one.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Art in gossip class.
Now, what insightful, amazing thing to I have to say today? Sorry I didn't write yesterday. I was feeling a bit low and didn't really have enough energy to type.
And today... I guess I will write about something like... um... art.
I had art class today. We only have it once a week, but it is a double period. Most of art class in the upper grades isn't much of art and more of gossip and drama and complaining and all that teen hormone jazz. Today we were supposed to be using white paste (like textured wall paint, or really thich white paint like the kind that's used on canvases).
Really we were just smearing paste on our hands and posterboards and shirts (the last accidently) and chatting about couples and people falling over and how wonderful each other's pictures are.
My picture is of a sea otter. You can't really tell what it is, though. Looks more like a ghost otter that's covered in cream cheese and frosting.
But then again, most of my non-painting pictures look kind of strange. The art teacher told me that my clay Oaxacan animal rabbit looked like "the Energizer bunny on drugs." He did have racing stripes on his sides, and his ears were huge, and he was bright purple, but then again, he WAS adorable.
Earlier in the semester, we had art masterpiece sessions, where we each learned about a seperate artist and gave a presentation about them, a painting by them, and our opinion about their styles. Dadaism, op art, Impressionism, post-Impressionism... of course, everyone hates this, because gossip isn't an option because we actually have to LEARN. I kind of like it, though.
I try to avoid gossip, but it is intruging. I mean, I think it's almost human nature. We all love to be knowledgable about our surroundings and the people in our communities, and we all love to know things others don't. And we all love attention and being reassured in our belief that we aren't all totally despised and hated.
I asked a boy I've liked for years out about half a year ago. And he told me to ask him later, so I did a few months after that. And he said yes. But later that evening, he texted me and told me he didn't really mean it and that he didn't like me at all. But I still like him, and I wish he would say yes. He asked one of my best friends out at a bat mitzvah, and I had to go in the bathroom and cry. But he's not going out with her anymore, but I'm not going to get my hopes up about him liking me.
Anyways, people are still talking about it. And that's some of the gossip about me. And the rest is that I'm a total nerdy dork who has no life and no friends.
I love art class.
And today... I guess I will write about something like... um... art.
I had art class today. We only have it once a week, but it is a double period. Most of art class in the upper grades isn't much of art and more of gossip and drama and complaining and all that teen hormone jazz. Today we were supposed to be using white paste (like textured wall paint, or really thich white paint like the kind that's used on canvases).
Really we were just smearing paste on our hands and posterboards and shirts (the last accidently) and chatting about couples and people falling over and how wonderful each other's pictures are.
My picture is of a sea otter. You can't really tell what it is, though. Looks more like a ghost otter that's covered in cream cheese and frosting.
But then again, most of my non-painting pictures look kind of strange. The art teacher told me that my clay Oaxacan animal rabbit looked like "the Energizer bunny on drugs." He did have racing stripes on his sides, and his ears were huge, and he was bright purple, but then again, he WAS adorable.
Earlier in the semester, we had art masterpiece sessions, where we each learned about a seperate artist and gave a presentation about them, a painting by them, and our opinion about their styles. Dadaism, op art, Impressionism, post-Impressionism... of course, everyone hates this, because gossip isn't an option because we actually have to LEARN. I kind of like it, though.
I try to avoid gossip, but it is intruging. I mean, I think it's almost human nature. We all love to be knowledgable about our surroundings and the people in our communities, and we all love to know things others don't. And we all love attention and being reassured in our belief that we aren't all totally despised and hated.
I asked a boy I've liked for years out about half a year ago. And he told me to ask him later, so I did a few months after that. And he said yes. But later that evening, he texted me and told me he didn't really mean it and that he didn't like me at all. But I still like him, and I wish he would say yes. He asked one of my best friends out at a bat mitzvah, and I had to go in the bathroom and cry. But he's not going out with her anymore, but I'm not going to get my hopes up about him liking me.
Anyways, people are still talking about it. And that's some of the gossip about me. And the rest is that I'm a total nerdy dork who has no life and no friends.
I love art class.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Hermitage.
Really, that pretty much sums up the situation.
I just want to stay here on my bed and listen to Harry Potter on tape and type forever and ever. I never want to leave this room. I don't want to go back to school where everyone makes fun of me, and I don't want to go to the rest of the house where my dad lectures and critisizes and glares at me.
I probably could just stay in here for the rest of my life except for the whole bathroom thing. And sustenance, of course. I DO have a Toblerone bar and a handful of mints, but I don't think I can live off of that for even a few days. And there's no water.
But as far as entertainment, etc.... I have my iPod and Harry Potter, my laptop, a notebook, pencils and paper, a whole wall full of books and a stack of unread ones higher than me, and a sewing kit, not to mention all the cleaning that needs to be done and MUCH much more.
And there's the whole emotional aspect. It may be a bit lonely to just stay here constantly. I don't think it'll be too bad, though. I mean, all my real friends are on the internet. They're almost all people I have never and will never meet, most of them at least fifteen years older than me. I wouldn't be all that upset to not have to see any of the people I know ever again.
Maybe I'll just stay in here for a few more hours.
I just want to stay here on my bed and listen to Harry Potter on tape and type forever and ever. I never want to leave this room. I don't want to go back to school where everyone makes fun of me, and I don't want to go to the rest of the house where my dad lectures and critisizes and glares at me.
I probably could just stay in here for the rest of my life except for the whole bathroom thing. And sustenance, of course. I DO have a Toblerone bar and a handful of mints, but I don't think I can live off of that for even a few days. And there's no water.
But as far as entertainment, etc.... I have my iPod and Harry Potter, my laptop, a notebook, pencils and paper, a whole wall full of books and a stack of unread ones higher than me, and a sewing kit, not to mention all the cleaning that needs to be done and MUCH much more.
And there's the whole emotional aspect. It may be a bit lonely to just stay here constantly. I don't think it'll be too bad, though. I mean, all my real friends are on the internet. They're almost all people I have never and will never meet, most of them at least fifteen years older than me. I wouldn't be all that upset to not have to see any of the people I know ever again.
Maybe I'll just stay in here for a few more hours.
Short story.
Venetian Rebellion
A short story by Celly, your beloved blogger
“Thief! Thief!” the guard screamed hoarsely as two dirty, calloused feet slapped the cobblestones and the teenaged boy fled from the house with his prize, the Duchess’ sapphire necklace. Soon the Duchess’ entire household seemed to threaten revolt - the cooks and manservants bellowed questions and directions; maids and ladies-in-waiting shrieked, fluttering like uprooted pigeons. The Duchess and the Duke stood dumbfounded, shocked and devastated at the loss of the priceless heirloom. The Duchess blinked, her face drained, and her hands trembled. Suddenly she gasped elegantly and fell into a heap on the floor (not so elegantly). Soon surrounded by hovering attendants, the woman spoke but six words: “Find the thief. He is dead.”
Halfway across the romantically beautiful city of Venice, the skilled thief, Reilly Freret, cowered behind the cargo in one of the peeling, cracked wooden gondolas as yet more Polizia bustled past, questioning civilians and occasionally resorting to violence in their desperate search for the precious jewel. The canalled city was crawling with constables, like ants on a sweet. One of these harassed, hurried policeman was J.J. He especially felt anxious to find this young robber. The Duchess, beautiful, royal, but cruel, had threatened a particularly violent end for him if the burglar, known by all in the city, wasn’t caught and the sapphire returned. J.J., already out of favor due to an incident regarding a bungled execution, knew the Duchess spoke truly. He must find Reilly before he caused a rebellion in the tense city against its heartless female ruler. The problem was the actual capture- the crook had many accomplices and holes to hide in. Most likely, J.J. thought, Reilly would attempt to exit the city on one of the many ships that left the city daily. Struck by this sudden idea, J.J hastened to the harbor, unwittingly passing within three feet of the criminal he sought.
Reilly breathed a deep sigh of relief as the heavy footfalls of the guard faded into the distance. He knew full well that escape-although surely not easy, with the city crawling with armed men- might be achievable with Venice in its current state. Revolution and rebellion against the harsh penalties and laws set by the Duke (who was carefully controlled by the cold-hearted Duchess) loomed on the horizon constantly like a noxious cloud of ash. Reilly wasn’t eager to cause public mayhem and unrest, but he also felt no enthusiasm to face capture or the violent end he might meet at the hands of one of the Duchess’s assassins. No, he must reach his master and find a safe place to hide for a few weeks before he must inevitably leave the city he loved. The simmering anger of Venetia’s citizens was almost as useful to him as anything else- almost any home and family would shelter, and even provide him transportation to his master’s court.
The day passed uneventfully for J.J., stuck watching the brightly-painted ships sail gracefully into the harbor, but night, as always, brought fear to the hearts of the Duke’s men and raucous joy to the souls of the rebellious townspeople- specifically in the flickering torchlight of the tavern known informally as the Court of Thieves. The main leaders of the potential uprising gathered there- men and women displeased with the Duchess, be they noble or common. Unbenounced to him, Reilly, too, would soon join their ranks. Wrapped heavily in cloth and tied almost painfully tight to his wrist, the Duchess’ most prized, unthinkably beautiful sapphire necklace entered the rough, filthy Court of Thieves. The jewel, being so at odds with its surroundings, first caused Reilly’s employer, a big, thickly bearded man, to only stare at the fantastic stone before laughing: a huge, deep, jolly sound. This stone symbolized the rise of the rebellion and the fall of the substantial wealth of the royalty while the poor starved in the streets.
In the large manor house occupied by the Duke’s family, the Duchess paced slowly. She knew the cause of the theft, and she knew the stakes at risk if the jewel was not recovered and the leaders of the rebellion executed. Calling to her own personal guards, she summoned the Duke and a man she could make suffer and unleash her wrath upon. Stumbling up the steps to the Duchess’ chamber, J.J glanced fearfully up at the compassionless face of the woman. Again, the lady spoke few words, but they wrought fear in the heart of J.J.
“Find the thief. Find his masters. Bring them to me, alive, by midnight tonight, or your head will decorate my ramparts by morning,” she said icily.
Shivering with cold and fear, J.J. trudged up the streets of Venice as the sun set. Peering in the window of the Court of Thieves, a jolt of adrenaline shook his body. There was the thief and the jewel, both surrounded by burly men shouting more and more treasonous things as they consumed more and more wine. A smile crept across J.J.’s features as he sidled into the room, gesturing for reinforcements as he did. In a trice, all was chaos. The men, sobering up fast, fled through alleys known only to crooks. All escaped but Reilly, jammed into a corner. As J.J. advanced slowly, all thoughts fled from Reilly’s head but one: his death was near.
The thought followed him like a specter on the trek back to the Duke’s mansion, and covered him like a blanket in the chill dampness of the dungeons. The feeling was not relieved with the news that he was to be hanged on the morrow.
As the first rays of the sun penetrated through the bars of his cell and the heavy footfall of guards approached, all hope of rescue faded from Reilly’s mind, and with it faded all fear. He stood and waited for his grim entourage, and walked bravely to the gallows. The gathered crowd held their breath as he stepped up to the noose. Politely refusing the offered hood, he seemed all gracious courage. When asked if he had any last words, his voice was strong and clear and unfaltering.
“This act, done not out of greed but of a longing for justice has begun a serried of events I cannot foretell, that will change the course of history. I do know that the Duchess will fall. The people will triumph, and my death will bring the end for Venetia’s royalty. The revolution is begun.”
Chaos erupted like a horrible flower from the spot where the gallows stood as the citizens and soldiers fought and the noose tightened around Reilly’s throat.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The only reason the names in this story are Reilly and J.J. is that I had to do it that way for school. I would have changed them, but I'm much to lazy to do that for a semi-non existent audience.
A short story by Celly, your beloved blogger
“Thief! Thief!” the guard screamed hoarsely as two dirty, calloused feet slapped the cobblestones and the teenaged boy fled from the house with his prize, the Duchess’ sapphire necklace. Soon the Duchess’ entire household seemed to threaten revolt - the cooks and manservants bellowed questions and directions; maids and ladies-in-waiting shrieked, fluttering like uprooted pigeons. The Duchess and the Duke stood dumbfounded, shocked and devastated at the loss of the priceless heirloom. The Duchess blinked, her face drained, and her hands trembled. Suddenly she gasped elegantly and fell into a heap on the floor (not so elegantly). Soon surrounded by hovering attendants, the woman spoke but six words: “Find the thief. He is dead.”
Halfway across the romantically beautiful city of Venice, the skilled thief, Reilly Freret, cowered behind the cargo in one of the peeling, cracked wooden gondolas as yet more Polizia bustled past, questioning civilians and occasionally resorting to violence in their desperate search for the precious jewel. The canalled city was crawling with constables, like ants on a sweet. One of these harassed, hurried policeman was J.J. He especially felt anxious to find this young robber. The Duchess, beautiful, royal, but cruel, had threatened a particularly violent end for him if the burglar, known by all in the city, wasn’t caught and the sapphire returned. J.J., already out of favor due to an incident regarding a bungled execution, knew the Duchess spoke truly. He must find Reilly before he caused a rebellion in the tense city against its heartless female ruler. The problem was the actual capture- the crook had many accomplices and holes to hide in. Most likely, J.J. thought, Reilly would attempt to exit the city on one of the many ships that left the city daily. Struck by this sudden idea, J.J hastened to the harbor, unwittingly passing within three feet of the criminal he sought.
Reilly breathed a deep sigh of relief as the heavy footfalls of the guard faded into the distance. He knew full well that escape-although surely not easy, with the city crawling with armed men- might be achievable with Venice in its current state. Revolution and rebellion against the harsh penalties and laws set by the Duke (who was carefully controlled by the cold-hearted Duchess) loomed on the horizon constantly like a noxious cloud of ash. Reilly wasn’t eager to cause public mayhem and unrest, but he also felt no enthusiasm to face capture or the violent end he might meet at the hands of one of the Duchess’s assassins. No, he must reach his master and find a safe place to hide for a few weeks before he must inevitably leave the city he loved. The simmering anger of Venetia’s citizens was almost as useful to him as anything else- almost any home and family would shelter, and even provide him transportation to his master’s court.
The day passed uneventfully for J.J., stuck watching the brightly-painted ships sail gracefully into the harbor, but night, as always, brought fear to the hearts of the Duke’s men and raucous joy to the souls of the rebellious townspeople- specifically in the flickering torchlight of the tavern known informally as the Court of Thieves. The main leaders of the potential uprising gathered there- men and women displeased with the Duchess, be they noble or common. Unbenounced to him, Reilly, too, would soon join their ranks. Wrapped heavily in cloth and tied almost painfully tight to his wrist, the Duchess’ most prized, unthinkably beautiful sapphire necklace entered the rough, filthy Court of Thieves. The jewel, being so at odds with its surroundings, first caused Reilly’s employer, a big, thickly bearded man, to only stare at the fantastic stone before laughing: a huge, deep, jolly sound. This stone symbolized the rise of the rebellion and the fall of the substantial wealth of the royalty while the poor starved in the streets.
In the large manor house occupied by the Duke’s family, the Duchess paced slowly. She knew the cause of the theft, and she knew the stakes at risk if the jewel was not recovered and the leaders of the rebellion executed. Calling to her own personal guards, she summoned the Duke and a man she could make suffer and unleash her wrath upon. Stumbling up the steps to the Duchess’ chamber, J.J glanced fearfully up at the compassionless face of the woman. Again, the lady spoke few words, but they wrought fear in the heart of J.J.
“Find the thief. Find his masters. Bring them to me, alive, by midnight tonight, or your head will decorate my ramparts by morning,” she said icily.
Shivering with cold and fear, J.J. trudged up the streets of Venice as the sun set. Peering in the window of the Court of Thieves, a jolt of adrenaline shook his body. There was the thief and the jewel, both surrounded by burly men shouting more and more treasonous things as they consumed more and more wine. A smile crept across J.J.’s features as he sidled into the room, gesturing for reinforcements as he did. In a trice, all was chaos. The men, sobering up fast, fled through alleys known only to crooks. All escaped but Reilly, jammed into a corner. As J.J. advanced slowly, all thoughts fled from Reilly’s head but one: his death was near.
The thought followed him like a specter on the trek back to the Duke’s mansion, and covered him like a blanket in the chill dampness of the dungeons. The feeling was not relieved with the news that he was to be hanged on the morrow.
As the first rays of the sun penetrated through the bars of his cell and the heavy footfall of guards approached, all hope of rescue faded from Reilly’s mind, and with it faded all fear. He stood and waited for his grim entourage, and walked bravely to the gallows. The gathered crowd held their breath as he stepped up to the noose. Politely refusing the offered hood, he seemed all gracious courage. When asked if he had any last words, his voice was strong and clear and unfaltering.
“This act, done not out of greed but of a longing for justice has begun a serried of events I cannot foretell, that will change the course of history. I do know that the Duchess will fall. The people will triumph, and my death will bring the end for Venetia’s royalty. The revolution is begun.”
Chaos erupted like a horrible flower from the spot where the gallows stood as the citizens and soldiers fought and the noose tightened around Reilly’s throat.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The only reason the names in this story are Reilly and J.J. is that I had to do it that way for school. I would have changed them, but I'm much to lazy to do that for a semi-non existent audience.
Poetry.
We read poetry in LA class today. Well, actually, we read poetry that we had written. Bit silly, really. All together now, we've written three poems for LA in the past few weeks. A shape poem, a memory poem, and a free choice. Want to hear the two typed ones? OK, if you insist....
CHOCOLATE AT THE RENAISSANCE FESTIVAL
fabric smooth and crumpled.
the money, body heat, leaves my hand.
in its place falls a pale, crinkled wrapper
filled with cool Chocolate and a handful of change.
i stare at the frosted sweet.
dark cacao with a dribbleoflusciouswhite in the center.
fresh, tart Raspberry tops it, a delicious tiny red crown.
my tongue meets, licks, my parched, dry lips.
Smack!
a single bite – an hour of delicious bliss.
inside the delectable dessert lies another bittersweetred berry,
hidden; a precious gem.
magenta juice oozes from it like tiny honeycombs as I sink in my teeth.
i look up, satisfied, face smeared with Tangible Tastiness.
sticky fingers reach out for more,
nose longs for the lingering scent of
the best Chocolate ever.
Well, looks like I can't find the memory poem. But it's about the Deathly Hallows release party, I'll tell you that.
Maybe I'll post some more of my creative writing outside this blog on here. Next up, a long [short] story.
CHOCOLATE AT THE RENAISSANCE FESTIVAL
fabric smooth and crumpled.
the money, body heat, leaves my hand.
in its place falls a pale, crinkled wrapper
filled with cool Chocolate and a handful of change.
i stare at the frosted sweet.
dark cacao with a dribbleoflusciouswhite in the center.
fresh, tart Raspberry tops it, a delicious tiny red crown.
my tongue meets, licks, my parched, dry lips.
Smack!
a single bite – an hour of delicious bliss.
inside the delectable dessert lies another bittersweetred berry,
hidden; a precious gem.
magenta juice oozes from it like tiny honeycombs as I sink in my teeth.
i look up, satisfied, face smeared with Tangible Tastiness.
sticky fingers reach out for more,
nose longs for the lingering scent of
the best Chocolate ever.
Well, looks like I can't find the memory poem. But it's about the Deathly Hallows release party, I'll tell you that.
Maybe I'll post some more of my creative writing outside this blog on here. Next up, a long [short] story.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Church.
I went to the Christian church on my school's property today. Our school choir was apparently needed there to sing.
But don't bother to pay us for showing up at 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning for choir, abandoning all our weekend activities, rehearsing for an hour, standing in church for an hour and a half and almost fainting because there were no chairs and we used all our breath for singing, and staying late to help put chairs away, not to mention actually singing.
No, instead WE have to pay for this amazing opportunity to learn the ropes of the "music business." As if the school choir was considered part of the music business by anyone but the parents.... *sigh* At least they gave us donuts.
Standing up in the choir loft, I had plenty of time to think over church and the sermon and the people standing far below me. It seems to me that often, a lot of mean, rude, horrible people go to church regularly. I wonder if it makes them feel more important and holy than other people, or if they feel guilty and are trying to purge themselves of their sins, or whether they just have nothing better to do on a Sunday.
This leads me to my second observation- many people who go to church are sad, lonely, and sometimes grumpy because of this (which makes them hard to tell from the first lot). These people are often old, but not always. My grandma falls into this category. This group usually goes to church because it makes them feel better, it's part of their routine, and they get to talk to people instead of just sitting at home. It's their community, no matter how rarely they may actually talk to the individual people.
In a way, you've got to admire these people for getting out of the house and talking to people, contributing to society (even if it is just the small society of their church), volunteering to acolyte, etc., or just filling some seats. You (or at least I do) also have to kind of feel sorry for these people. My grandma, for example, is widowed, has few friends, and spends most of her time watching tv and reading murder mysteries. Otherwise, she has plenty of friends from church, acolytes and volunteers regularly, and contributes wholeheartedly in all drives and collections. In fact, she knitted over 100 hats for children in shelters last year.
My poor eternal soul may burn for it, but I don't think I'll start going to church regularly.
But don't bother to pay us for showing up at 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning for choir, abandoning all our weekend activities, rehearsing for an hour, standing in church for an hour and a half and almost fainting because there were no chairs and we used all our breath for singing, and staying late to help put chairs away, not to mention actually singing.
No, instead WE have to pay for this amazing opportunity to learn the ropes of the "music business." As if the school choir was considered part of the music business by anyone but the parents.... *sigh* At least they gave us donuts.
Standing up in the choir loft, I had plenty of time to think over church and the sermon and the people standing far below me. It seems to me that often, a lot of mean, rude, horrible people go to church regularly. I wonder if it makes them feel more important and holy than other people, or if they feel guilty and are trying to purge themselves of their sins, or whether they just have nothing better to do on a Sunday.
This leads me to my second observation- many people who go to church are sad, lonely, and sometimes grumpy because of this (which makes them hard to tell from the first lot). These people are often old, but not always. My grandma falls into this category. This group usually goes to church because it makes them feel better, it's part of their routine, and they get to talk to people instead of just sitting at home. It's their community, no matter how rarely they may actually talk to the individual people.
In a way, you've got to admire these people for getting out of the house and talking to people, contributing to society (even if it is just the small society of their church), volunteering to acolyte, etc., or just filling some seats. You (or at least I do) also have to kind of feel sorry for these people. My grandma, for example, is widowed, has few friends, and spends most of her time watching tv and reading murder mysteries. Otherwise, she has plenty of friends from church, acolytes and volunteers regularly, and contributes wholeheartedly in all drives and collections. In fact, she knitted over 100 hats for children in shelters last year.
My poor eternal soul may burn for it, but I don't think I'll start going to church regularly.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Bullies on the cyber-Playground.
Again, two posts in a day. Wow.
I despise and love Facebook. It seems that I am the brunt of many jokes in the FB community. One boy in particular is a real prat.
He keeps making mean, sarcastic comments and saying I smell books before I read them and saying that I am oddly obsessed with the LOTR and Harry Potter.
I really want to curse at him, but I know that that is probably unadvisable, so I just called him a prat, and foul, insolent little cockroach, and a narcissistic loser with a selfish attitude who thrives of the unhappiness of others and is hardly human at all, and is unworthy to even type Frodo Baggins' name.
I told him to "get you gone, you minimus of hindering knot grass make, you bead, you acorn!" (As said in Midsummer Night's Dream). If he bothers me again, I'm planning on saying, "thou filthy maypole, I am not yet so low as to sink mine fingers into thine eyes," calling him a insolent little toe rag, and maybe even a "ministry loving, family disowning, power hungry moron," as said by Percy Weasley.
I can't wait for high school and college.
I despise and love Facebook. It seems that I am the brunt of many jokes in the FB community. One boy in particular is a real prat.
He keeps making mean, sarcastic comments and saying I smell books before I read them and saying that I am oddly obsessed with the LOTR and Harry Potter.
I really want to curse at him, but I know that that is probably unadvisable, so I just called him a prat, and foul, insolent little cockroach, and a narcissistic loser with a selfish attitude who thrives of the unhappiness of others and is hardly human at all, and is unworthy to even type Frodo Baggins' name.
I told him to "get you gone, you minimus of hindering knot grass make, you bead, you acorn!" (As said in Midsummer Night's Dream). If he bothers me again, I'm planning on saying, "thou filthy maypole, I am not yet so low as to sink mine fingers into thine eyes," calling him a insolent little toe rag, and maybe even a "ministry loving, family disowning, power hungry moron," as said by Percy Weasley.
I can't wait for high school and college.
Movie.
Saw Remember Me at the theatre today with my friend. Yes, same friend. It was remarkably sad for a Robert Pattinson movie. I don't like him because he was in Twilight. I would never support a movie like that with my talent if I were him. But I'm not.
*SPOILER ALERT*
He dies.
*SPOILER ALERT*
He dies.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Religion.
Wow, three posts in a day. I'm going for a record here. Soon I'll run out of insightful things to say about life. I'm not such an interesting person, after all. Chai's all gone. Now what will I drown my sorrows in? Certainly not alchohol. Dr. Pepper? Butterbeer? A problem for a different community, I suppose.
Today in religon class we watched Prince of Egypt. Religion class is always so awkward. I mean, it's a Christian school. I've been going there since kindergarten. I should have gotten used to it by now. But even now.... now worst of all, actually. Our teacher always has us write our opinions on certain things. In the beginning of the year, she had us write our idea of the Creation story. What do you think she would have done if I had written about the Goddess, the Big Bang Theory, and evolution? Would she have thought me insane? I think so. I mean, why not? I am insane, after all.
Being Pagan is rather difficult, after all. Especially in Middle School, when everyone is mad fun of, no matter what. When everything bad is "gay" and all different cultures are "weird." Add that to an Christian school and a rich, snooty private school community.... and you get me, still in the broom closet everywhere but online.
It's especially difficult at times like these. My religion, naturally, is a huge part of my life. I want to tell people. I want to talk about things that are important to me. Alas, it has not yet been so. Times like these- I mean the days and weeks around my religious holidays. I mean this week, with Ostara on Saturday, and late December, with Yule right around the corner, and Halloween, with Samhain. I mean middle February with Imbolc and summer with Midsummer's Day. I mean basically any time around the 8 sabbats. I mean pretty much all the time, actually.
I hate intolerance.
Today in religon class we watched Prince of Egypt. Religion class is always so awkward. I mean, it's a Christian school. I've been going there since kindergarten. I should have gotten used to it by now. But even now.... now worst of all, actually. Our teacher always has us write our opinions on certain things. In the beginning of the year, she had us write our idea of the Creation story. What do you think she would have done if I had written about the Goddess, the Big Bang Theory, and evolution? Would she have thought me insane? I think so. I mean, why not? I am insane, after all.
Being Pagan is rather difficult, after all. Especially in Middle School, when everyone is mad fun of, no matter what. When everything bad is "gay" and all different cultures are "weird." Add that to an Christian school and a rich, snooty private school community.... and you get me, still in the broom closet everywhere but online.
It's especially difficult at times like these. My religion, naturally, is a huge part of my life. I want to tell people. I want to talk about things that are important to me. Alas, it has not yet been so. Times like these- I mean the days and weeks around my religious holidays. I mean this week, with Ostara on Saturday, and late December, with Yule right around the corner, and Halloween, with Samhain. I mean middle February with Imbolc and summer with Midsummer's Day. I mean basically any time around the 8 sabbats. I mean pretty much all the time, actually.
I hate intolerance.
Routines
Well, here goes. Another post. I told you I would post multiple times a day for those first few days. Somehow, the past few weeks have been surprisingly thoughtful for me, compared to the chaos of the life which I lead.
It sounds remarkably simple- wake up, get ready, go to school, come home, do homework, noodle on the net, perhaps do something interesting (dance class on certain days, coffeehouse on Thurdays, play rehearsals coming up), and then get ready, and go to bed. Rinse and repeat.
But, as in most things, it's not quite as simple as it seems, unfortunately. A basic routine may be established, but, of course, the main course d'jour can't be put any more specifically, or the routine falls to pieces.
Not only is there academia- math, social studies, and the like, which is not so horrendous or chaotic, but there's the social aspects of it all, too. Oh, Alex likes Alexandra. OOOH, Draco is dating Hermione. Do we really care? (Well, except for the last one, of course. And that's not canon, so it doesn't count.)
But now I am feeling especially thoughtful. I haven't been doing great for the past few months, but I thought I was over that now. I thought I was clear of all that. Oh, how wrong I see I was then.
Now a good friend is down there, too. She was talking about suicide today. She was talking about how she would do it- drug overdose, nothing painful. I told her it would be painful to do that to all of us. Painful to put that burden on parents, friends, family. Anything that hurts others isn't painless.
Anything that hurts yourself isn't painless, either. I don't want her doing that. I had enough of that when it was me. I DO NOT want her to be there. "I tried to think it was a sick fancy; I didn't like to own it..." said Beth from Little Woman. That's almost just what I said at the time. I thought I could get over it by myself, and as time went on, I wasn't so ashamed of it anymore. It wasn't so dangerous, so exciting, so wrong. It fell into the routine.
I don't want her to have a routine like that.
It sounds remarkably simple- wake up, get ready, go to school, come home, do homework, noodle on the net, perhaps do something interesting (dance class on certain days, coffeehouse on Thurdays, play rehearsals coming up), and then get ready, and go to bed. Rinse and repeat.
But, as in most things, it's not quite as simple as it seems, unfortunately. A basic routine may be established, but, of course, the main course d'jour can't be put any more specifically, or the routine falls to pieces.
Not only is there academia- math, social studies, and the like, which is not so horrendous or chaotic, but there's the social aspects of it all, too. Oh, Alex likes Alexandra. OOOH, Draco is dating Hermione. Do we really care? (Well, except for the last one, of course. And that's not canon, so it doesn't count.)
But now I am feeling especially thoughtful. I haven't been doing great for the past few months, but I thought I was over that now. I thought I was clear of all that. Oh, how wrong I see I was then.
Now a good friend is down there, too. She was talking about suicide today. She was talking about how she would do it- drug overdose, nothing painful. I told her it would be painful to do that to all of us. Painful to put that burden on parents, friends, family. Anything that hurts others isn't painless.
Anything that hurts yourself isn't painless, either. I don't want her doing that. I had enough of that when it was me. I DO NOT want her to be there. "I tried to think it was a sick fancy; I didn't like to own it..." said Beth from Little Woman. That's almost just what I said at the time. I thought I could get over it by myself, and as time went on, I wasn't so ashamed of it anymore. It wasn't so dangerous, so exciting, so wrong. It fell into the routine.
I don't want her to have a routine like that.
Hello. Or not, really.
Here I am. Somehow I always seem to do this. I begin a blog, I post for a few days, I lose inspiration and it falls. I read someone else's blog, the muse of blogging comes to me, and I delete my old blog and start a new one. The cycle goes on....
Hopefully, this one won't be like that. Hopefully, I will be able to continue this one for at least a bit longer than that. And if not for much longer than that, maybe I can at least be busy during those few days. Type a lot... or every few minutes.
Then again, who really cares? Is anyone really reading this? No. Would anyone even bother to read very much of it, even if they did see it? No. I probably wouldn't. Who wants constant updates on my daily life? I certainly don't. This is just another affect of modern media- we all think that people care about every little thing in our lives. Twitter tells people to type every little thing that they think or do. "I think Harry Potter is amazing." "I'm drinking chai right now in a little independent coffee house while my mom plays piano." "I'm typing on my cute little HP Mini laptop into my new blog titleed Peace, Read, Chai."
Twitter, Facebook, AIM, Myspace, Blogspot, television programs like American Idol where you vote on artists.... they have all convinced us that we are important. That someone really cares what happens in our lives out there in the vast universe. And really, what happens to these countless posts by poor, lonely people on countless nameless blogs? Do any of these people actually make friends? Does anyone actually read the heartfilled comments typed painstakingly, or do they just drift off into space, into the mindless abiss of the internet like so many pictures of animals doing human things captioned by mispelled, punny words in Impact font? These are the things I think about when I listen to flute and type at a table with polka dots on it.
Hopefully, this one won't be like that. Hopefully, I will be able to continue this one for at least a bit longer than that. And if not for much longer than that, maybe I can at least be busy during those few days. Type a lot... or every few minutes.
Then again, who really cares? Is anyone really reading this? No. Would anyone even bother to read very much of it, even if they did see it? No. I probably wouldn't. Who wants constant updates on my daily life? I certainly don't. This is just another affect of modern media- we all think that people care about every little thing in our lives. Twitter tells people to type every little thing that they think or do. "I think Harry Potter is amazing." "I'm drinking chai right now in a little independent coffee house while my mom plays piano." "I'm typing on my cute little HP Mini laptop into my new blog titleed Peace, Read, Chai."
Twitter, Facebook, AIM, Myspace, Blogspot, television programs like American Idol where you vote on artists.... they have all convinced us that we are important. That someone really cares what happens in our lives out there in the vast universe. And really, what happens to these countless posts by poor, lonely people on countless nameless blogs? Do any of these people actually make friends? Does anyone actually read the heartfilled comments typed painstakingly, or do they just drift off into space, into the mindless abiss of the internet like so many pictures of animals doing human things captioned by mispelled, punny words in Impact font? These are the things I think about when I listen to flute and type at a table with polka dots on it.
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