Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Now, my friend Nur is a Muslim, but I'm a Christian. Obviously, we wanted to celebrate some kind of holiday in December 'round Christmas time that involved an exchange of loving thoughts in gift format, but I didn't feel quite right about calling it Christmas for, I should think, obvious reasons.
So, I bought her a gift and wrote her a long and (I thought) entertaining letter explaining how we celebrated Whatevermas and our icon, instead of Christ or Satan, was Urgle Spunk, the merry skipping hippo. Who happens to wear a tutu.
But as the years have gone by (this will be our third official Whatevermas celebration), I've realized that Whatevermas is really the embodiment of the essence of secular Christmas - exchanging heartfelt and occasionally ridiculous trinkets that you've quite obviously thought about in relation to who's getting it, and alerting those that you care about that you do, in fact, care about them.
I wish we could make it a national sensation.
In other news, check out these articles:
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Essentially, what happens is that there are three atypical teenages. Myra, the literary nerd with a penchant for extravagance; Conan, the geek with a stronge case of anemia and introversion, and Berthold, our resident madman. Then Berthold, motivated by curiousity, kills himself to see what the afterlife is like. Myra and Conan, as summer comes, get very bored, and Myra whips out the greatest secret in adolescent history: she has a portal to the fiery pit of Hades beneath her bed. So they go dig up Berthold, and jump into the abyss, landing themselves in a heap of adventure. Along the way we get to know some equally colorful characters, including Lindra, an amazonian enigma of a lady with a slight infatuation on Conan and an occasionally sadistic sense of humor, Maurie, their demonic tour guide through Hell, Lyle, Conan's transvestite demon wife-husband-thing, Satan, who is actually OCD and made his fame in self-hurt books, and God, who happens to really love scrabble. THey travel through the pits of Hell, the TRansitory airport, and Heaven (in that order), dragging along Berthold's corpse until they find him at a Reformed Atheists Convention. IT'll jolly good fun.
Anyway, I'm now up to going down to find Berthold's corpse in the pits of Hell and I have about 13,000 words so far. I'm excited.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Regardless, I'd like it noted that modern American teenagers (yes, I realize that I AM one) really disapoint me. For example, one boy who sits in front of me in Technically-Advanced-But-Still-Really-Remedial English class never stops talking. EVER. And another girl who sits by me in Journalism once drummed up a 753 dollars worth of cell phone bills and hates to read. The few books that her parents have bothered to buy her have been scribbled on and tossed into the back of her closet. So, obviously, I asked to have them. Additionally, none of them know what anything means. Really easy words completely confuse them, like "consensus" or phrases in the vicinity of "you are a stain upon humanity." This is SAD.
In unrelated news, I have a new psuedo-infatuation, who I have codenamed Timeline, which happens to be one of my cleverest codenames to date. Kind of. Additionally, I've made it up to 12,500 words on my story, which is ... still yet to be titled. Damn failure of imagination.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
Needless to say, I was an absolute magnet for popularity.
I either annoyed or intrigued nine tenths of my fellow campers, while the left over ten percent were merely frightened by me, with my insane smirk and limitless instinctual sarcasm. But there was one boy who seemed to quite like me indeed; or he did at least enough to recite a circular nerdy-types poem.
His name was Jon, though I thought he looked more like a Ben, and the first time we met he walked up to me, pen in hand and illegible literary scribblings littered across the page before me, and began, "Crazy? I was crazy once. They put me in a big rubber room - rubber room, rubber room, rubber room. I died in that room. They put me in the big, hard ground. There were worms in that ground. Worms? I hate worms, they drive me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once...." And so on.
It was love at first paroxysm of geekiness. We were inseparable after that. (aaaaaaaah, we ate together, we bathed together, we even shared the same string of mint-flavored dental flosss...)
Through the rest of the week we were suctioned at the side, traipsing along through the picturesque surroundings of our luxurious Methodist camp - simultaneously learning how to shoot things and how to love God. It was a beautiful thing.
But, as all good things, our innocently unspoken love affair of poking championships and salamandar hunting had to end. The week lolloped on to Saturday, trailing into farewell hugs and last-ditch attempts to pull one over on the counselors, eventually ending with a final embrace and a dusty cloud enveloping his car.
We aggreed to keep in touch, and we did for a few weeks, but summer deteriorated into the lazy smoldering sunsets of Autumn and freedom turned into educational imprisonment, thus giving the chop to my first infatuation.
All that remains of John Tepe are a few crumpled photographs and those formative memories of good times past.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Yes, she was flawed. Horribly, massively, moodily flawed, but aren't we all? And she had a true and razor sharp brilliance concealed beneath that so human of facades. She used everything she had, and she didn't have much, to propel England, a tiny little island off the coast of France, wildly depleted by the hedonism and insanity of her royal predecessors, to a position of peace, prosperity, and power. Anyone who doesn't revere Elizabeth has something wrong with them. C'mon.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
It will be an absolutely glorious, wonderful day and I just know it. I JUST KNOW IT!
Someone interesting and famous and talented if finally coming to Lexington (well, besides Gail Carson Levine and Barbara Kingsolver, revision: someone male and interesting and famous and talented if finally coming to Lexington). Scott Westerfeld himself in all his literary brilliance is going to grace our humble town of Lexington, and I'm wildly excited.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Much to my contradictorily combined excitement and chagrin, my life is fact shaping into a cliche young adult coming of age novel.
Is this good or is this bad? That is the question. (mad props to you, Shakey, for that brilliantly penned and wildly popular line)
Regardless, I've already got the exposition-y bit of a young adult, coming-of-age, learning about dating novel. Essentially, it all stars with our glam and glorious heroine (ie, ME) falling desperately into a rather ridiculously severe infatuation with the seemingly perfect older guy. Said perfect guy is quirky, funny, charming, and as equally, but far more publicly, glorious as our young heroine (ie, RSP1). He's often quite taken with seemingly obscure nerdy cult indulgences (ie, Monty Python) and is proud of the fact. But, despite the overwhelming awesomeness of our leading lady, he still spends most of his time swishing deliciously about while staunchly ignoring the plight of the aforementioned female.
But things invariably look up. After, that is, things look quite horribly worse.
The protagonist is spirited off on some strange and horrible adventure which, superficially, looks like it's going to be Hell on Earth. HOWEVER, she's soon joined by an equally quirky, underdog-esque, nerdy, but still wildly handsome, male alternative and, invariably, they end up sucking face. After they permanently immobolize their tongues, they head back to the homeland and realize what a horrible, jerkish, shallow person the original infatuation and the girl is all happy and fine.
So I've already gotten through the first bit, now I just need to find me a lovable nerd to suck face with. xD
Thursday, October 4, 2007
John Green vs. Michael Palin : Who's the Most Delicious Man Alive?
First, a brief biography of each for those of you who aren't aware:
John Green: Mr. John Green was born in Indianapolis, the city in which he now resides, and moved away a mere three weeks later. He attended a boarding school for high school and moved on to do a number of uninteresting and mundane things between the ages of eighteen and twenty-nine when he and his brother, Hank Green, nerdfighter and ecogeek extraordinaire, decided to set aside the textual communication and conduct an alternation series of video blogs available at brotherhood2.com and youtube.com/vlogbrothers. I heartily recommend them both. Mr. Green is the author of both wondrous young adult novels Looking For Alaska, and An Abundance of Katherines, and his next book, Paper Towns, is released to the general public next year in September. We are waiting anxiously, I assure you.
Michael Palin: Born on May 5 in Sheffield in 1943, Michael Palin was the youngest of the Monty Python troupe, acclaimed comedic force of the twentieth century and all-around hysterical guys. (by the by, he was the best) Michael Palin swiftly rose to the forefront of the favorites as he went on romping about and contributing to all manner of wondrous cinematic delights such as Brazil and Life of Brian. Then, in 1988, the BBC offered him the opportunity to go traipsing around the globe in eighty days, launching his lucrative and prolific career as England's favorite travel personality. He has been married to the same woman for 41 years and they have three grown children: Thomas (Tom), William, and Rachel. Michael Palin probably has over one hundred tributes floating about youtube in his honor, and he is overwhelmingly delicious even in his older age.
Point Number One - Religion:
I know, with a certain amount of certainty, that the aforementioned Mr. Palin is not, in fact, a Christian follower, which contrasts sharply with my merry self, as I, you see, am. I am Anglican (though I'd like to think I'm openminded enough about the religion thing...) and not likely to give that up any time soon. However, Mr. John Green is, indeed, Epicopalian (that is, a practising member of the Episcopalian church which is, essentially, America's take on Anglicanism) which is a point to him for religious compatiability.
Point Number Two - Profession:
This is a hard point to discuss as length because I'm profoundly in love with both the work of Michal Palin and John Green. You see, I've watched all of the cinematic treasures featuring our English gem available through the Lexington Public library, and I've read most of his corresponding books. However, I have also read and reread both of Mr. Green's glimmering glimpses into the teenage psyche and the teenage life. They are, quite honestly, some of the best young adult novels available to the general public. However, Michael Palin was a member of the Monty Python group, and was, indeed, the glue that held them all sanely together. So, point to Palin.
Point Number Three - Humour:
One would think, with Michael Palin's near inimitable contributions to comedy in the twentieth century (he was a part of Monty Python - I really think that's pretty self-explanatory), that he would take the Comedic Crown, but John Green is rather a clever fellow. Both of them are witty, reasonably random, glorious in their idiosyncracy and endlessly optimistic (it would seem, though for John Green the optimism would actually be like more of a distorted pessimism). However, that extra push from Python just tips the scales in Michael's favor on this one, so. Point to Palin.
Point Number Four - Nationality:
Well, much as I love John Green, he's just rather stubbornly American born and bred. Michael Palin, by way of contrast, is rather gloriously English. Point to Palin, irrevocable point to Palin.
So, that comes out to John Green: 1 and Michael Palin: 3
It was close, but ultimately, Michael Palin is the most delicious man alive to 14-year-old, anglophile, Python-loving, hetereosexual, nerdy girls.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Regardless, Mason expressed shirt envy today, engaging me in a very short and slightly awkward conversation until we had to go our merry ways. BUT. AHAHA. He will, most undoubtably, be in the library tomorrow during lunch. So. WEll.
I know, the fickle pathetic nature of the schoolgirl heart is truly shocking.
Additionally, Maureen Johnson is awesome.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Ecogeek - Run by Hank Green
Sparksflyup - The Website of acclaimed author John Green
Bookshelves of Doom - Another Loverly Blog
Brotherhood 2.0 - The Website of the Brothers Green
Palin's Travels - You can never, EVER, get too much Michael Palin
Maureen Johnson's Blog - The Blog of ANOTHER acclaimed young adult author
The Whatever - John Scalzi's Blog. Amusing man.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
I also adapted this into a play. I was going to stage it with my friends from third grade at my birthday party, but, sadly, my dream never came true. Damn you, short third-grade attention span, damn you!
Additionally, I had this whole other world centered around the evil Dr. Hysenstein and his obligatory sidekick Midgen. He turned evil at the ripe age of seven because his parents had created all sorts of gender confusion in his youth by naming him Suzy.
Basically, I started this little expedition into my literary past to find a 64-page poem/story/novella thing that I wrote in seventh grade. It was about a girl and her best friend, who, in the end, commits suicide. Basically, her story is just about how much her life sucks (alcoholic dad, whorish sister, mentally unstable best friend/love interest) and the subsequent misery that comes as her sister becomes pregnant and her best friend continues ogling some other girl. In the end, as stated above, her best friend decides that his life is miserable and takes a gun to his head the same night her sister gives birth. I was very, very proud of it at the time. And now I just wish I could find it again...
Friday, September 28, 2007
So, basically, the only bad consequence of all these publicity for the Brothers Green is that they've suspended My Pants, which does not bode well for the My-Pants-Addicted... which, quite sadly, includes my merry self.
In other news, this is a Friday, and I should probably be working on homework or studying or both, or otherwise working on something constructive but for the last hour I've just been watching TV and ... eating. Eating is rather fun, though, so no one can blame me for that. So. That's all I have to say about that.
Additionally, I'd like to comment on the Chris Crocker incident that has taken the internet of America by storm. I'm a bit late in jumping on to this particular bandwagon, but mostly I'd like to note that both the video and the subsequent comments bobbing beneath are a sad reflection on humanity.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Basically, I need to rant about infatuations and being a teenager who has them, as most teenagers do, and there are multiple spawn-off problems of this one central problem, so .. yeah. Basically, 14 is one of the worst ages I can think of, besides 100, or two. Or 39. It's that time when you're poised awkwardly on the threshold of adolescence, but you still have a foot firmly, and reluctantly, anchored in those last horrible throes of childhood. Everyone, EVERYONE is horrible at age 14. I'm horrible, my classmates are horrible, my friends are horrible. We're all just horrible. Compounding the pain of being 14 is that all 14-year-olds, unless they've unlocked a secret way of erasing emotion that I would love to hear, develop infatuations. And infatuations, invariably, suck desperately. Don't deny it. You know they do -- ESPECIALLY for nerds (well, generally ) because, as a general rule, none of us know anything about being a kid. Oh, sure, we know all about advanced mathematics, and English literature, and mythology and world history, and psychology and linguistics and the various cultures and politics of the world but we know NOTHING about being teenagers. At least not the nerds I know. We're all exceptionally awkward socially, even more so than our non-nerd brethren and sistren in puberty, and we know nothing of this huge, pulsating mass of evil that's called "dating." Though we'd like to. Oh, we'd love to. Generally. Mostly, we foster forbidden and impossible infatuations and pretend we can't commute what these strange PDA-mongerers are saying about "emotions" and "love" and "desire" and "all of that." Oh, we can. And sometimes I think that the severe, intense pain of unrequited love is increased tenfold in people who don't have a prayer. Oh, damn Cupid and his malicious arrows of desire.
So, essentially, I have an infatuation (if you hadn't picked that up, I'd think you were a person of dubious intelligence) and it's a sophomore who is in two of my A-day classes. And it's rather...unpleasant. It's unfun. It really is.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
But oh well, at least I've got some semblance of intellect still rattling about in my skull, which is more than what many can claim for themselves (stares pointedly at classmates in various classes). Oh, the pain of puff-headedness. Vapidity reigns supreme over the realm of Lexingtonian teenagers, I can assure you that.
Right, also, I had being a hormonal teenager. Oh, accursed adolescence-induced misery. Damn it to the deepest pits of Hell.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Magnificant in their unhindored splendor
Until all sensibility has fled
WorldSuck will never decrease
Though nerds may be gawky and awkward
A lot goes on in their heads
So in twenty years,
You non-nerds, I fear
Will be the ones taunted instead
Saturday, September 22, 2007
But the afternoon did turn out to be an extravaganze of groping fun for one young man I happen to know. A slightly awkward young man, stricken with the pangs of unspecified/unrequited love, but all the same, his current infatuation (another socially awkward but wholesome type) turned out to be full of physical tendencies. Ergo, groping fun! (though innocent groping, or, rather, as innocent as any kind of groping could possibly be...)
Though I didn't get included in the mess of physical affection...not that I'm especially eager to be groped by anyone or anything, for that matter... Anyway, today I realized the severity of my general dislike for various individuals and I also learned that standing around in the sun for hours on end can make you rather unpleasantly sweaty. Really. I wouldn't recommend it.
My First Thought of Profound Insight:
Two Quotes I'd like to Share:
1. He continues, "I inherited the rare Islamic book from my late wife, Evangeline Johnson Merrill."
2. "Gay Artist Burns Rare $60,000.00 Koran"
Anyone else see the snag here? If he's gay why did he have a wife? Oh, the pondering possibilities of potentially insane folk.
Moving swiftly on:
My Second Thought of Profound Insight:
I think people largely miss the point here. Religious practise and belief is not entirely chiseled in the stone of a static eternity. It shifts, and bends, and evolves to fit the people who practise it and the times in which it is practised. How many stonings have you seen recently (in the Westernized half of our globe)? Yes, there are homophobic Christians and Muslims, but there are also openly gay priests ordained in the Episcopalian church. I can really only speak for the Bible here, but it is not a terrorist manual - it's a book that religion-ram-roders and homophobes alike adopt to suit their own purposes, because they know that the Bible has quite a following and a lot of those people may be religiously unsure and thus impressionable to the (largely incorrect) conviction of the malicious-minded Bible-thumpers.
My Third Thought of Profound Insight:
Of course Mr. Merrill is perfectly welcome to vandalise any kind of text he pleases, but that doesn't mean that he should. As I'm sure he's perfectly aware, these books hold almost unrivaled gravitas, and thus burning or dismembering them would cause more uproar or anger than burning, say, The Very Hungry Caterpillar(though I do love that book, and sincerely hope no one ever brings a match to its child-cheering pages). Though this seems almost gratuitously intolerant to those people who follow them.
In unrelated news, once again my sub-conscious has provided me with a psycho-analytical feast of idiosyncracy.
Friday, September 21, 2007
First, in case you didn't notice, if the general 'you' is actually there reading this, otherwise it'll sound like I'm writing to the computer, this is a blog. It's a quite spiffing invention by someone from somewhere where people can write about their thoughts and people can read them. It's right nifty.
Second: wait, no. I just forgot it. Right. Well, marching right along.
Third, I say 'Right' a lot. I figure it's the idiosyncratic interpretation of the ever-popular 'like.'
Again, swiftly galumphing forward.
Teenagers, as a huge shock to everyone involved, can actually be quite cruel. I'll have to sic my garden gnome minions on them soon. And, as another huge surprise to all, most of them are not nerds. This, of course, came as an inordinant shock to me, who so recently was parading about with a horde of eccentric children who proudly waved the "Nerd" banner and trumpeted "White & Nerdy" as their theme song.
God, I miss the nerds. I miss them desperately.