29 January 2010

Teenage Angst

How often we, as teenagers, fall prey to the temptation of angst. We put on grief, on sorry, on deep dispositions as a mark of honor. We label ourselves 'emo', or 'goth,' or 'misunderstood' as a way to validate our assumed sadness. It's a strong temptation. Too often, I succumb and vainly think that no one really understands what I go through. My experience is unique, experienced by no one, that I am separate.

But this thought that we, alone, know what sorrow is mocks the pain of those who are legitimate. We call ourselves 'emo' like it were something to be proud of. But it isn't. How arrogantly we pride ourselves in our supposed suffering, ignoring those unfortunates who know what pain is. It's a mockery, a delusion, and an insult.

Barry Hendrickson, 53, knows what pain is. It isn't posting pictures of himself in mock agony on the internet. It's feeling himself slowly dieing in from cancer and liver malfunction in front of his wife, and young daughter. It's knowing he has no more than three weeks in this life. And it's hiding the fear, sorrow, and pain of death from everyone - hurting those he loves the most. It's the knowledge that he won't see his daughter grow into a young lady. And pain is the feeling of the drugs coursing through his veins, unable to stop his body from powering down.

So go ahead, keep pretending that your racing hormones know what pain is. Keep thinking you have a reason for lashing out at others. Until you have known real suffering, there is no excuse for your angst. And until you can understand your angst is nothing compared to that of others, you will continue mocking the pain of those less fortunate than yourself.


27 January 2010

Mmm, delicious

This post is brought to you from the irony in my life. 

I feel slightly guilty for the enjoyment I received out of yesterday's Latin tutorial. You see, I helped to grade my Latin tutor's midterms from classes she teaches. While doing so, I graded one of my friend's test. I found it deliciously ironic, seeing that she is tutoring many younger students in Latin. Yeah, I love the irony, but I'm not going to tell her that the pink marks on her test come from me. >roll<

Guilty feeling's still not gone.

The other irony, which affects me more directly, is one which Lady Specs has caused. A few weeks ago, she dragged me into volunteering for a 1940s themed swing dance. I'm trying to recruit people to go to the dance, but due to a previously mentioned problem with dances, I may not even be going.

Oh, it's still delicious.


26 January 2010

Concerning tournaments

First of all, let me say I am incredibly proud of my club and my friends. Looking over the results from last weekend's tournament, I find numerous references to both groups. Merely thinking about it gives me a slight attack of a warm, fuzzy feeling. Great job, guys!

Because Jedi Gerbils was an Iron Man this tournament, I had little opportunity to hang out with her. In consequence, I sought out different members of my club to pass the hours between rounds. It was an illuminating experience, to say the least. I hope that friendships I started there may continue into the future. Though once again, I may have dosed these friends with larger amounts of Problematic humor than they really wished. Oh well. I'm going to be selfish and say that I don't regret it. ;)

Unfortunately for this same group, I aptly demonstrated my ability to be an emotional time bomb. Because of extenuating circumstances, for the entirety of last week, I averaged six hours of sleep for every forty-eight hours that passed. The stress of finishing and memorizing speeches added to that, and a bad round on Saturday afternoon was the proverbially straw that broke the camel's back. I had two breakdowns on Saturday, and as a result, I fear I was unforgivably rude and upsetting to many of my club mates. Looking on the plus side, two of the interpreters from club can now claim to have a crying audience. I leave it up to you to decide if that's a good thing.

What's that you say, shoulder paparazzi? How did I do? Meh, alright. I got a sixth place and an eight place in two of my events, which is cool. I'm more concerned about debate. In one round, the only thing the judge came away with was that I was a bumbling idiot. He gave me 9 speaker points. >wince< To put that in perspective, the lowest you can get is 5. The RFD was particularly illuminating, though, and I now have a good idea of what needs to go in my new NEG and what needs to be added.

There is another tournament this weekend which Calvin, Hobbes, and Escapist are going to. I will be praying for them as they compete in southern Oregon.

Well, I've got to get ready for speech club now.


25 January 2010

Return To Pooh Corner

Return to Pooh Corner is by Kenny Loggins, a performer I don't know much about. However, I do like his album "Return to Pooh Corner." No, really. The song is all about trying to get back to childhood and playacting, a sentiment I share entirely. Enjoy.

Christopher Robin and I walked along
Under branches lit up by the moon
Posing our questions to Owl and Eeyore
As our days disappeared all too soon
But I've wandered much further today than I should
And I can't seem to find my way back to the Wood

So help me if you can
I've got to get back
To the House at Pooh Corner by one
You'd be surprised
There's so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh

Winnie the Pooh doesn't know what to do
Got a honey jar stuck on his nose
He came to me asking help and advice
And from here no one knows where he goes
So I sent him to ask of the Owl if he's there
How to loosen a jar from the nose of a bear

It's hard to explain how a few precious things
Seem to follow throughout all our lives
After all's said and done I was watching my son
Sleeping there with my bear by his side
So I tucked him in, I kissed him and as I was going
I swear that the old bear whispered 
  "Boy welcome home"

Believe me if you can
I've finally come back
To the House at Pooh Corner by one
What do you know
There's so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of Christopher Robin
Back to the ways of Christopher Robin
Back to the days of Pooh

24 January 2010


It is a truth universally recognized that a woman in possession of a head must be in want of someone's hair. What I mean is this: a woman with stick-straight hair will want to have curls, and one with curls wants straight. Meanwhile, those with waves will want one of the extremes. And of course, those with thin hair want thick hair, those with thick strands want fine strands. Sometimes, those with hair want no hair and shave it all off.

 This concept really hit home with me this weekend, at the tournament. My first speech teacher emphasized that before going into a room, find  a mirror and give yourself a complete inspection to make sure there's nothing wrong with your appearance. So before rounds, I'd go into the women's restrooms, where they'd invariable have nice, large mirrors, to find other competitors primping. That's usual, but in one round, a particular young lady was having trouble curling her stick-straight hair, and observing to a friend that 'curly-haired people don't have to go to all this trouble!'

Myself, I'm one of the people with naturally straight hair. The great thing about straight hair is that you don't have to use a straightener to get it that way. The bad thing about it is that you can't get it to do anything else, even with all the world's hair products. If you get it curly in the morning, it will be wavy by noon, and straight by evening. Because of this, my heart went out to the young lady with the curling iron.

A second, later round, I discovered a lady with curls attempting to tame her hair with a straightener. It wasn't working. She run the sizzling hot iron down a curl, only to find, five seconds later, it had reverted to a perfectly shaped curl. She was, as you can imagine, not entirely pleased with the result.

Isn't it sad how we get so obsessed over hair that we complain about it? I think so.


20 January 2010


I shan't be posting for the next few days, as there is a tournament. Suffice to say, my life for the past week has been filled with undue amounts of stress. I think I'll go scream now.

And I'll end, because I've got a case, some briefs, and some memorizations to accomplish this evening.



okay, I'm good.

19 January 2010

Lusus Naturae

Every once in a while, my brain pulls out a new trick to play on me. Once, it was making me crave fish and chips every time people talked about pickles. Fortunately, it's grown tired of that one, so recently, my brain rolled out a new line of crazies. My friends, I am now hearing dramatic, deeply moving voice-overs like the ones in bad movies in my head.

They're not all bad: some of them can be quite deep. But they're enough to question why I here this:

"In every life, there comes a stress point. A breaking point. A thinness. A time when you can no longer go on as you have, where you must change or perish."

when I go to get a haircut. I like the idea, so please no stealing, but it seems slightly, well, melodramatic in its timing. I think Snuffles might be unduly influencing me.


18 January 2010

The Hazards of Love 4

The Hazards of Love 4 , a song from the Decemberists' album "The Hazards of Love" is one of my favorite songs.  No, really. It's the last song in a rock opera about the adventures of Margaret, a lovely village girl, and her lover, William, a shape-shifting forest dweller.  William's adopted mother, the Queen of the Forest is jealous of Margaret, so she convinces 'The Rake' - a dishonest man with a violent history to abduct Margaret. The Rake takes Margaret across the River Annan, and because the river is so violent, William is not able to cross. In another song "Annan Waters" he makes a deal with the river, telling it that it may drown him on his return if it will allow him to pass now. He rescues Margaret, and in this last song, he fulfills his promise, marrying her as the water rises around him. It's a beautiful song, but I can't say the entire album is worth much. I'll post about the other decent songs in upcoming Music Mondays.

As a foot note, the title of the song invariably links to a Youtube video of the song. Thus, you can listen and read it at the same time.

"Margaret, array the rocks around the hole before we're sinking
A million stones, a million bones, a million holes within the chinking
And painting rings around your eyes, these peppered holes too filled with crying
A whispered weight upon the tattered down where you and I were lying

Tell me now, tell me this, a forest's son, a river's daughter
A willow on the will-o'-wisp, our ghost to wander all of the water

So let's be married here today, these rushing waves, to bear our witness
And we will lie like river stones, rolling only where it takes us

But I pulled you and I called you here
(Didn't I? Didn't I? Didn't I?)
And I caught you and I brought you here
(Didn't I? Didn't I? Didn't I?)
These hazards of love
Never more will trouble us

O Margaret the lapping waves are licking quietly at our ankles
Another bow, another breath, this brilliant chill has come to shackle
With this long last rush of air, we'll speak our vows of starry whisper
And when the waves came crashing down, he closed his eyes and softly kissed her

But I pulled you and I called you here
(Didn't I? Didn't I? Didn't I?)
And I caught and I brought you here
(Didn't I? Didn't I? Didn't I?)
The hazards of love
Never more will trouble us
And these hazards of love
Never more will trouble us"

15 January 2010


"We can dance if you want to
we can leave your friends behind,
because if your friends don't dance,
well if they don't dance,
then they ain't no friends of mine."

Yup, tonight there was a contra dance hosted by my good friend Lady Specs. As I have blogged about this in the past, I shall spare you any further musings on what usually goes on in my mind at dances. After all, I usually decorate the wall.

No, this time I'll illuminate you as to why dances are not my favorite thing. I love dancing, but I usually don't at dances. When I go to an organized dance, I have two options: A. I can go in expectation of having a grand old time dancing and hanging out and having fun in general, and then go home disappointed. B. I go expecting not to dance, and am not disappointed. So which is better: being very disappointed, or very pessimistic? I really don't know. If I go acting happy and hoping to be happy, my chances of having fun are the same as if I go with apathy and expect disappointment.

At dances, I usually don't know many people, and many people usually don't know me. Most of the people I know are very gregarious girls who dance quite a bit at these events. But tonight's dance was different. Not only were there members from my speech club there, there were also members of other clubs there. Which meant that in comparison to other dances, this one was practically awash with my friends.

I am deeply grateful for the few times I danced tonight. Thank you, gentlemen who will go unnamed. For once, my expectations were exceeded. ;)


Problematic's Rules of Living, part 2

While it would be great if inspiration came all at once, it doesn't. Thus, I present you the second installment of my rules of living.  And if they seem a little less trivial than they should, just insert them into the first list as you feel appropriate.

Rule 13: "Always be comic in a tragedy. What the deuce else can you do?" GKC
Rule 14: I will never leave a fallen comrade
Rule 15: It is better to suffer an injustice than to do an injustice
Rule 16: Victory favors the well-prepared
Rule 17: Be the light at the end of someone's tunnel (Shamefully stolen from Escapist's blog)
Rule 18:  Love never fails. I Corinthians 13:8
Rule 19: If you're going to crash, crash hard. (Stolen from February Rain)
Corollary to Rule 19: Injuries are inevitable, so there's no point avoiding them. Live vicariously.
Rule 20: "Life itself is a quotation." Jorge Luis Borge (your-hay Louise bor-hay)
Rule 21: That which does not kill me makes me stronger
Corollary: That which does not kill me postpones the inevitable
Rule 22: When people are free to do as they please, they usually end up imitating each other.
Rule 23: It's always darkest before it goes pitch black
Rule 24: "Your dresses should be tight enough to show you're a woman and loose enough to show you're a lady."  Edith Head
Rule 25: Invisible friends count as real ones.


14 January 2010

New Header

Did you notice it? I changed my header. The latin quote was getting old, so now I've got a quote from The Man Who Was Thursday, by GK Chesterton. *is pleased with self*

Your life may continue as normal.



Yesterday, I mentioned that yesterday was 'Hug an Emo Day' as ordained by someone. ... Yeah. Well, it was an interesting study to see how many times I was hugged yesterday as people celebrated it. Five times. I find that a little odd, considering I was dressed like a cowgirl, not an emo, yesterday. Oh well, now I'm five hugs richer.


13 January 2010

I love coop B. I really do. Even though I have no right being there on Wednesdays, I am still attached to it.

Something tells me I ought to stop making a public spectacle of myself when I get there, but in my defense: Ntropy made me do it. Well, not made me, but inspired me. Inspiration, to an artist, is the same thing as a force.

You know what we did today? Today, we figured out how to walk on the ceiling. And we got ZachIsACucumber to do it with us. So we walked on the ceiling up stairs, down corridors, and then tried it outside. It's best in corridors, but outside, you feel like you're floating. Unfortunately, people noticed.

Something tells me I ought to stop. But it's so fun to do. !

This is the result of a very long speech meeting. I started on the palm: "LOVE" and free-associated from there. It's not possible to read everything on my hand, so I'll list off what I actually wrote on my hand. Also, since there were several strands of freely associated words, I'll start with "Love" each time to show you how the stands progressed.


Art is Beauty


Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep


And then on the back:
Ever Dream
Remember Me
My eyes are dry
For the Heart I'll never Have
Find Me
fallen angel
death before dishonor
Music is Life
drums in the deep
the music plays
music in the blood
hear them playing
the sobs of the violins wound my heart

Yeah, I'm a little odd. In other news, apparently today is "Hug an Emo Day". Last night at club, Jedi Gerbils came up to me and said that since she wasn't going to see me today, she'd give me my hug a day early. I'm glad I've got such sarcastic friends. But on the plus side, I'm one hug the richer now.

free air hugs for everyone!

12 January 2010


As some of you may know, I was planning on doing a persuasive speech this year about heroism. Well, after waiting three weeks for my muse to speak, I have been forced to move on.

Instead of heroism, I have chosen a topic which I am already enthusiastic: Christianity and the Arts. Here's a quote in it that should give you an idea of what I'm saying.

"So [these companies] profit because they appeal to a demographic that will support their films regardless of their artistic quality? Sounds like Christians and geeks have a lot in common!"


11 January 2010

Classical Music

I recently wrote of my love of music catalogs. In that post, I mentioned a deep dislike for the classical music industry, and this post is to clarify what I meant.

I love classical music. Let's get this straight. I adore Rachmaninoff, I could listen to Beethoven for hours, and Debussy is one of my favorites.Whether it's the 1812 Overture, or Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, I heartily enjoy the classical music tradition.

However, I cannot stand the classical music industry. Yes, I can make a statement like this because I've had interactions with many professionals: instructors, conductors, professors, etc. Invariably, all of them treat the music as a dead relic of history. You must play the piece exactly as they would have played the piece three-hundred years ago because that's the way they would have done it.

In other words, the classical music industry is dead. It looks back in time, pining for the 'good old days' of Mozart and Vivaldi, stifling new interpretations of old pieces. And when I see such legalism in an area which should allow freedom, ingenuity, and imagination in the interpretation of old pieces, I get sick to my stomach. The classical music industry is so stagnant, so putrid to me that a career as music teacher, classical composer, or member of a symphony is utterly repugnant.

The life has moved out of classical music, and until it returns, I will look for inspiration elsewhere.


I am Stretched on Your Grave

That's a creepy title for a song, isn't it? The lyrics to this song are actually an Irish poem from the 1600s. This particular poem has intrigued many, many artists, and many versions of this song have been produced. My personal favorite is Abney Park's version, because it employs male and female vocalists to great effect.

Abney Park, for the uninformed few of my readers, is a Seattle-based band that plays 'world' music. By world, we mean lyrics inspired by the 1800s and the steampunk subculture set to the sounds of music from around the world. The band is "actually" the crew of the airship HMS Ophelia, and they perform in full steamwear. It's rollicking good fun.

I am Stretched on Your Grave

I am stretched on your grave
And I'll lie there forever
If your hands were in mine
I'd be sure we'd not sever
My apple tree, my brightness,
It's time we were together
For I smell of the Earth
And I'm worn by the weather.

When my family thinks
That I'm safely in my bed
From morn until night
I am stretched at your head
Calling out to the air
With tears both hot and wild
For the loss of a girl
I loved as a child.

Do you remember the night
The night when we were lost
In the shade of the blackthorn
And the chill of the frost?
Oh, and thanks be to Jesus
We did what was right
And your maidenhead still
Is your pillar of light.

I am stretched on your grave
And I'll lie there forever
If your hands were in mine
I'd be sure we'd not sever

Oh, the priests and the friars
They approach me in dread
For I love you still
My wife, and you're dead
I still will be your shelter
Through rain and through storm
And with you in your cold grave
I cannot sleep warm

So I am stretched on your grave
And I'll lie there forever
If your hands were in mine
I'd be sure we'd not sever
My apple tree, my brightness,
It's time we were together
For I smell of the Earth
And I'm worn by the weather.

So I am stretched on your grave
And I'll lie there forever
If your hands were in mine
I'd be sure we'd not sever

10 January 2010


Today I was defenstrated. I then defenestrated a few of my friends. It happened at church. We all enjoyed ourselves.


Tournament Time!

Let the tournament season hereby begin!

Yesterday, my club had a small round robin because it could. I immediately caught a cold in honor of the occasion. This had the happy effect of postponing my departure to the practice tournament, meaning that I did not have to debate one of my LD club mates yet again. (We only have five members, so practice debates tend to settle into familiarity very quickly.)

Anyways, so I arrive with my usual fanfare and skulk-into-the-room entrance, where I was quickly told in rapid succession that I wasn't supposed to be there. How's that for a welcome? ;) The speech coach finished her remarks, and rounds began in earnest. I was supposed to have Persuasive, Original Oratory, Extemporaneous, and Impromptu, but due to a recent change in my persuasive's premise (from a positive one to a negative one), I only had three. Which was hard enough to do without the fourth.

I have to admit, I wasn't feeling very social on account of the cold and other extenuating circumstances, so I went and hid in the sanctuary, which was happily silent. It was then that the foul Flamevores invaded my sanctuary, throwing heat and destruction in their path. I grabbed my trusty Banana-gun and went to work, exterminating them. Of course, I was interrupted in my work, nay, laughed at, but such is the price heroes must pay for awesomeness.

I had just finished off the last of the Flamevores when my work was interrupted by Escapist, a worthy opponent. We fought on the stairs. We fought in the baptistery. We fought in the sanctuary; and we fought in the hall. Many innocent fruit were destroyed by our fearsome conflict. And, when at last, the fight had ended and students arrested us, we fired on the students. I shall not describe the gore, for it would frighten my more tender readers, but let the record show that when our bananas burst in our hands, we had no more enemies. For a brief, shining moment of glory, Banana-Guns reigned supreme.

And then we went home. Actually, because my Dad had to lock the church up, I stayed late, and the Lady Specs took me home. It was quite a pleasant evening with her. After all, who doesn't like finding amazing monologues and talking with good friends? We sang, we drank, and we were merry (and we got typhoid and dysentery). Wait a second, this isn't a Tom Lehrer song. Ahem. Yes, so I spent the evening with my friend, and then Dad took me home, home.

But guess what was in my car! The shirt I ordered on Christmas Day. It is awesome. You must have a picture. It's somewhere around here... I've composed this in gmail, so I haven't quite mastered all the features. Anyways, if there's a picture in this post, it's a picture of what's on the shirt.

Tournament, Banana-Gun wars, cool t-shirts, my day was complete.


08 January 2010

Music Catalogs

You know the one biggest reason I like the beginning of January? Because it brings floods of fine string and violin catalogs in the mail. As you are sure to know at this point, I'm a dedicated Orch Dork. Well, I'm not in an orchestra this year, but that's beside the point. I've been playing violin for a while now, and having multiple, non-overlapping packets of hundreds of pages of glee really cheers me up from my post-Christmas blue funk.

We got the Shar magazine in yesterday. Mm, delicious. I happily settled down with a cup of tea and a recording of Perlman to peruse the pages of perennial bliss. Inside the covers of this marvelous magazine, I read descriptions of cases (Wow, they make water and airtight ones now out of carbon fiber? Awesome!), bows (Diamond Carbon Fiber Bow? Sounds intriguing), electric violins and the one digital recorder Shar markets (a Zoom H4N stereo recorder that has all the bells and whistles, even a guitar tuner. O.0) before turning to the antique violins and bows. There's one from Paris, made in 1894. It's so expensive, there's no price listed. You have to call. There's another violin from Lyon, circa 1912. Once again, very expensive. Note that these were made by good violin makers who have such obscure names I have not bothered to recall them.  Then there were the bows. An 1899, followed by 1912,1920, c.1930, c. 1940, and few others made me leave drool marks on the pictures. And then, on the opposite page, there were the brand new bows selling for some $3,000.

When I bought my violin after breaking a violin-shaped box three years ago, I thought the price I paid was enormous. Of course, that was thirteen year-old me paying in monthly amounts of $100 from the money I scraped together from babysitting, dog walking, and every other odd job I could find. Still, upwards of a thousand dollars is nothing to be scoffed at. But now as I look at these fine instruments, I dream of when I'll have enough money to afford this expensive hobby. I'm never going into the stale, stagnant, putrifying industry of classical music (more about that later), which will make me an amateur at best, but I dream. And these dreams help me transition into a positive view of the new year. Which is why I really, really like music catalogs.

07 January 2010


I am unduly excited. I filled out my application to page for the Washington State Senate this weekend, and mailed it on Monday. The excitement earns its label "undue" because I get to wait all spring for a letter telling me that I've been accepted. If I'm not accepted, I get no letter. Thus, my state has provided for my entertainment for the next season by letting me check the mail everyday. If you needed any more proof that the government was sadistic...

06 January 2010


It just occurred to me that I should define my terms. As in, offer brief explanations of some of the terms I use. The definitions provided below are for people who feature in my posts but don't necessarily read the blog.

Pwzulfownful: Like pwn, only better
Thursday: My brother. The one and only. Almost of a drinking age
NtropyNcarnate: Polyglot in training. Fellow Latin student.
Toothpick: College-aged friend nicknamed for her extreme thinness. And because she holds Dory (the meat) and me (the bread and toppings) together in our lovely friend sandwich. Nom nom nom.
Dory: College-aged friend nicknamed for similarities to Finding Nemo's Dory
Calvin: Speaker from my club who interpreted Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes last year. Member of Extemp
Mrs. Incredible: Speaker from my club for whom I could not think an appropriate nickname. Also a member of Extemp.
Lady Specs: Longtime friend and associate. Former speaker, current coach and actress-to-be. The "Specs" stands for Spectacle/s. Senior in High School.
Cassandra: Speaker from my club known for acting and singing abilities
Pipsqueak: Also known as "Dear Little Hobbit", "Pippin," "Pip", and "Crazy Asian SS Lady". Former Speaker, current WWII nut, and lab partner. Named because of a resemblance to a certain hobbit from LotR
UnexpectedSong: Abbreviated as "Song". Song is a current debater from another club.
Xuhlph: The Team Policy club Jedi Gerbils and I wish to start. The members have already been picked, whether they know it or not. Let's just say the teams are pwzulfownful.  Pronounced "Zuhlf"
Ghoul: the new Cool
Bam: Substituted for 'pwn'

And the big reveal! Or not.
B: The initial I choose to represent myself with. It is not necessarily the first letter of my first name.

Is everyone ghoul with this? Awesome.


05 January 2010

Friends, cont

You may recall this post from December. In which I complained (surprise surprise) about a couple of imaginary friends who mysteriously showed up on my doorstep. Well, I put through the adoption papers, and today I officially adopted Snuffles. I've always wanted a melodramatic badger.

Chuckles, however, has not been claimed. Please, will the owner of the psychopathic clown/jester reclaim it? Also, there is still time for your imaginary friends to join my club.



As I survey the challenge my ego has yet again gotten me into, I can't help but feel a certain amount of pride - you know, that I actually accepted the challenge and all.

What happened was this: For the first four years of my homeschooling experience, I was in a girls' choir. It was quite good by the end, but the first year, bleh. Just bleh. The high notes we sang would make listeners wish for a very nice pair of noise-canceling headphones. ...Yup. The first year, the choir was planning to sing on the Christmas ships the next Christmas, and to do that, we needed a recording of the choir in action. This is where my Dad comes in. He is, after all, a former disc-jockey on radio, sound man for a band, and he now works in acoustics. In other words, he was uniquely qualified to record our choir. Which he did.

Five years pass. The recording sits, undisturbed, on my Dad's hard drive. And then, over Christmas break 2009, he pulled it out, did some editing, and came out of seclusion with our choir's very own recorded album. Which would be a whole lot more impressive if we sang all of the notes in key, not just most. Anyways, Dad and I were listening to this album as we made the rounds of the local game stores on New Year's Eve, and I was making snide remarks (much like this post, in fact) as we listened to the choir squeal out the high parts of 'The Softness of My Mother's Hands." Sentimental title, eh? Actually, it wasn't as bad as the one following it. It was titled something like "Love, Joy, Peace" and the lyrics were something as follows:

Peace, peace, peace, neverending
Joy, joy, joy, overflowing.
Love, love, love, everlasting and true.
This is our gift for you (our gift for you-ou-ou-ou-ou)

You know, I may have been harsher on this song than "The Softness of My Mother's Hands" because I very vividly remember *trying* to learn to sign the lyrics to the song as we sang them. And there was dancing. Which I cannot stand in choirs, but that's another issue for another time.

It's a soft, lullaby like song that continues on, blatantly stating that we hope you have peace, joy, and love for the whole of four more minutes. I pointed this out to Dad, and (foolish me) added an "even I could write something better," which is when he threw down the metaphorical gauntlet. In hindsight, it was probably to shut me up, but at the time, it was quite exciting.

So, being the headstrong young person I am, I eagerly picked up the invisible gauntlet, and now Dad is expecting a song expressing the same sentiments in a much better form. Haha! This is my first serious song-writing request. And I'm going to savor every minute of it.


04 January 2010

Wondering Where the Lions Are

I'm a big fan of Bruce Cockburn. No, that's not "cock - burn": it's "co-burn". Yup, weird name, huh? Well, he's a Christian songwriter who always has interesting takes on various topics. His style is very low-key, and is great for relaxing walks in the rain.  The album Dancing in the Dragon's Jaws was inspired after Cockburn read Augustine's City of God. I have driven my mother bonkers singing his song "Wondering Where the Lions Are" for hours at an end. It's a great song: esoteric, weird lyrics mask a great message. Mm, perfect.

Wondering Where the Lions Are
Sun's up, uh huh, looks okay
The world survives into another day
And I'm thinking about eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me

I had another dream about lions at the door
They weren't half as frightening as they were before
But I'm thinking about eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me

Walls windows trees, waves coming through
You be in me and I'll be in you
Together in eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me

Up among the firs where it smells so sweet
Or down in the valley where the river used to be
I got my mind on eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me

And I'm wondering where the lions are...
I'm wondering where the lions are...

Huge orange flying boat rises off a lake
Thousand-year-old petroglyphs doing a double take
Pointing a finger at eternity
I'm sitting in the middle of this ecstasy

Young men marching, helmets shining in the sun,
Polished as precise like the brain behind the gun
(Should be!) they got me thinking about eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me

And I'm wondering where the lions are...
I'm wondering where the lions are...

Freighters on the nod on the surface of the bay
One of these days we're going to sail away,
going to sail into eternity
some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me

And I'm wondering where the lions are...
I'm wondering where the lions are...

03 January 2010


Another one. Because I'm saving what would have been today's post for after a tournament, when I'll have an excuse for posting it. And I never really did an Old Year's post. Enjoy this terribly self-centric post.

3 things I accomplished last year:
1. Got to Regionals in Debate
2.Survived a class as the only girl in it
3. Turned 16

3 things I plan to accomplish this year:
1. Learn to play guitar
2. Actually start recording my songs, not just writing them
3. Finish my Gold Award in GSUSA

3 embarrassing things that happened last year:
1. Being match-made with a good platonic friend of mine. :(
2. Getting a lecture on the future of my love-life at a tournament. lol, that was funny.
3. Having a birthday party

3 life-changing things that happened last year:
1. I helped put on two summer camp/workshop thingies for NCFCA - an LD and a Speech one
2. Survived and learned from my own series of unfortunate events
3. Became friends with a lot more people. :P

3 things that happened last year that made me smile:
1. Being told "Rose, my name's the Doctor. Run for your life!" at a party. Still making me smile.
2. The scrapbook I received from my friend Lady Specs. And most of the cards and things inside. Oh, and the one card that I added to the picture of a lady riding a horse with a revolver. And the picture of little ballet me next to the legend "When other girls wanted to be ballerinas, I was pretty sure I wanted to be a vampire."Yeah, the whole thing is pretty up. And win. And Pozulfownful.
3. Sitting in the back of a car with a girlfriend of mine. I think we both ended up crying. So it was sad. But it was a good sad. Which is why it made me smile.

3 random things that I didn't do last year:
1. I didn't die! *dances*
2. I didn't release an album
3. I didn't meet Marty

01 January 2010

Of Meat and Potatoes, Right-handed Violinists, and Depression

You know, I originally was going to do a fairly stereotypical post about everything that went wrong last year and my hopes and dreams for the upcoming year. And then I decided not to. Instead, this post is going to be a grab-bag of goodies. Unless you really hate hearing about my life, in which case I must ask the question: Why are you even on my blog?

Alright, so some of you might know that last year, my New Year's Resolution was a meat fast. I did it in part to punish myself for breaking all my previous New Year's Resolutions, and partly because the idea of eating the corpse of a dead animal makes me sick. So I ruled out red and white meats, shrimp, and pretty much all seafood except salmon. This morning at 12:01, I celebrated the end of the fast by eating a bite of fried rice that had touched some pork. Rad, isn't it? Anyways, I just finished eating my first meal with meat in it in a year, and I probably shouldn't have done it. My stomach hurts. Bleh.

Yesterday, today, and tomorrow are big entertaining days. We had Pippin and her family over last night; today, we're having all of the debaters from speech and debate over for a movie night and soup; and tomorrow, Lady Specs and her family are coming over for dinner. One of the soups we're fixing for today is potato soup, and being the only daughter in the house, the job of peeling potatoes fell to me. It has been statistically shown that 95% of the times I peel potatoes, I also peel myself. As I sat at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes and digits, I realized I had a problem: While I am ambidextrous, to some degree, my right hand is dominant. This means that when peeling potatoes, my first reaction is to hold the potato in my left hand and the peeler in my right. But I also play violin, and my left hand is the one that presses on all those lovely sharp strings. So if the peeling knife slipped, I wouldn't be able to play violin for three weeks as I waited for my fingers to heal. But if I peeled with the knife in my left hand, I'd injure my dominant hand, with which I play piano, write, type, and draw, especially since my left hand is clumsier with knives than my right.

I settled for maiming my dominant hand. It escaped with only a few nicks and cuts, fortunately.

Today being the first of the new year is my final subject: depression. I really hate New Year's. Really, really hate. It means my Christmas break is over. It means that I no longer have anymore time to procrastinate on my World History, Math, Rhetoric, Science, and Latin. It means that the next two days are going to be really, really busy as I try to finish the [censored] lessons of History I didn't do over 12 days. And it means that school is about to start again. This morning as I tried to fall asleep, I ended up taking myself on a really good guilt trip. I always start Christmas break with the best of intentions to do 2 lessons of homework a day, but then I remember why I love break: because technically speaking, I don't have to do it. But yet, with my schedule being what it is, I really do need to do homework. And what with all the hosting we're doing right now, I spend most of the day preparing the house, cooking, and entertaining, which means less time for homework.

If you'll excuse me, I've got to go load the dishwasher and feel sorry for myself.