It's Raining

Blessings

2012-02-13T12:32:00.000-08:00

I drove down to an NCFCA tournament on Saturday to see some of my old friends. It was so lovely! Besides catching up with many of my friends, the entire atmosphere was very uplifting.

It feels like Saturday was, in some ways, a little gift from God. It was such a blessing to hear people praying, not cursing with God' name. To talk with my guy friends and have them ask what I was up to, not what my name and number was. To discuss the theological implications of secular songs, not what I'm doing on Friday night.

It really, really blessed me. Words cannot describe the joy that is still filling my heart, even as I sit in the computer lab of my college. I'm afraid I took that environment for granted while I was in the thick of it. I took it for granted that young men would be gentlemen, that they'd open doors for me and respect my feminity as a sister in Christ. I took it for granted that I would be expected to act with grace and love.

And it felt so good to be back.

For all my friends in Southern Oregon and Idaho: it was wonderful seeing you again. I've missed your company, and I pray God would continue to manifest Himself in your lives. I love you all.

B

Mercies Anew

2012-02-09T10:24:00.000-08:00

Hi guys. It's me, you know, Problematic? I used to post here a lot. I'm sorry for having abandoned this little corner of the interwebs for so long. There have been a lot of projects and assignments coming due recently, which has limited my recreational internet use to the extreme. For those who have emailed me in the past three weeks (including but not limited to Calvin, Tragedy101, and Mirriam,) I plan on responding sometime next week or there abouts.

As for posts here, I actually have a couple of long posts that I've been desperately scrambling to finish and yet haven't quite succeeded. In the meantime, I'd like to share just a little piece of God's provision that just happened in my life.

My family is all fairly tech-savvy, with the exception of my mom. The direct implication of this is that while Thursday, dad, and I, all have mp3 players and headphones, Mom generally has to borrow someone's earbuds to listen to a movie or sermon on her laptop. There's no problem with that.

On Monday, Mom borrowed my ear buds to listen to a sermon while I was at symphony rehearsal. She didn't end up using them, but recalled having them for most of the time I was gone. However, when I got home and she went to return them, the ear buds were nowhere to be found.

Now, I commute two hours every day, and to drown out the more unsavory conversations I may overhear on the bus, I listen to my iPod while doing something else. In light of this fact, I probably should have been getting upset over the missing head phones the night before my long commute. I distinctly remember thinking at the time that I should be more upset, but I only felt a deep-set apathy. Dad found me a pair of junky ear buds, and I went to school the next day.

But this is where things get interesting. While Dad was at work, he met with a local representative of a national audio-equipment manufacturer. This rep gave my dad a very nice set of ear buds, the day after I had lost my own. When I saw Dad that night, he gave me a fancy little box with these new ear buds in them, and I was totally shocked.

I had been planning on spending a fair amount of money to replace my missing head phones, but instead, God provided in an area I never even expected!

So yeah, that's my uplifting anecdote. :) Happy Thursday!

B

2012-01-18T14:14:00.000-08:00

The United States Congress is currently trying to pass two bills, SOPA and PIPA, which effectively provide grounds for sweeping censorship of the Internet.

Apologies for the language, but this is the best explanation I've found.

[snow]

2012-01-17T19:02:00.000-08:00

The clouds are slowly spreading across the night sky, blotting out the stars with white, edges outlined by the rising moon. She hides coyly behind them, teasing us mortals below with glimpses of her beautiful face. I gaze up, watching my breath escape to join its comrades before the moon. They tower up in the heavens, majestic and silent, but growing. The clouds are gathering their strength, pushing against the mountains on either side, unable to cross from their heavy burden.

Snow.

As the moon retreats behind another bank of storm clouds, the smell of snow comes into the air. Cold, crisp, and undefiled, like summer's rain preserved for winter. The wind sings to the moon, gusting the sound of sea gulls across her face. It dances to its own rhythm, wooing her with its eddies.

As we watch, the clouds begin to sink, bending down to drift between the trees. They float in and out among the pines while the moon watches from above. And then, she sighs contentedly.

One solitary flake drifts down, one piece of the moon's splendor, to touch the face of the earth. It alights, vanishes, only to be replaced by another. Faster and faster they come, the kisses multiplying until the object of their affection is no longer visible. And now there is a storm. The wind snatches at the flakes, jealous of their attention. It whirls them around in a dance, spinning and reeling in the cold January night.

I stand, feeling the kisses of heaven on my face, the jealousy of the wind, and relief of the clouds all on my face. There are no more stars, only snow.

Inflatable Monkey Wrenches

2012-01-05T11:39:00.000-08:00

In an attempt to alleviate the super-mundane thoughts that have been cluttering my head since the fall, I've started a twitter account. If you want to know the weird little things happen to me during daily life, go to this finely crafted link to read all about my mundanities.

If you're not interested, you must be a reader of extremely discerning taste. My congratulations.

I hope that by creating this account, I'll be able to save the actually interesting things for It's Raining, and let my more intellectually rigorous followers choose how much of Problematic's spastic musings to expose themselves to.

That's all for now.

2012-01-03T09:58:00.001-08:00

School started again today. I can't help but feel a little overwhelmed. Why? Because in addition to my normal 15 credit load and music requirements, I've got two college applications due in next week. I have to record my violin audition, apply for a job, write a speech, and somehow manage to have a social life, since some of my recently returned college friends are still in town for a few weeks.

Ack. I can't wait until January is over.

Figgy Pudding

2012-01-01T11:49:00.000-08:00

Why, hello there. You must be the replacement year I ordered six months ago. What took you so long? Oh, yeah, I get it. Back-orders are a nasty affair. Well, I'm so glad you're here. Let me show you around a little bit. There's some figgy pudding warming up on the stov- oh, yes, fire is totally expected. Now, over here is photo album from the last year...

I started it with the best of intentions, I really did. But the time, it just started to slide out of my fingers in this maddeningly deliberate stream. I soon lost myself in myriads of schoolwork and tournaments.

Would you believe that I attended nine tournaments last year? NINE! To list those off in quick order, I was at the Concordia Challenge, the Clarion Qualifier, the Puget Sound Qualifier, the Inland Northwest Qualifier, the Emerald City Qualifier, the Tulip Cup, Region 2's Regional Invitational, the National Invitational Tournament of Champions, and the National Championship.

At the Puget Sound Qualifier, I ended up competing in a debate form entirely new to myself - namely, Team Policy. And the most surprising thing was, I actually placed/got speaker awards in the new form, too!

You could say I was pretty successful in speech and debate last year. And I would most likely agree. But I consider it far more important to our new partnership that I am now an alumni of homeschool. highschool speech and debate. That's right. I no longer compete.

Over last summer, I went on two road trips to California in the space of three months, with entirely different people. Both road trips were amazing, for different reasons. I spent over a month on the East Coast, all the way from Boston to Key West and back up to DC. I attended a conservative political leadership camp, and alternated between loathing it and loving it.

I taught at speech camp again, but otherwise had a very low-key summer. Three sets of friends finally started dating. I lost some friends and gained some new ones. And then I started college last fall. See? That's me on my first day of school. Pretty skittish looking, I know.

Classic Epic Times: Debating my duo partner Calvin, hanging with Rubbish and Gabs in Old Town San Diego (especially when we found the root beer shop), playing music in the cold with Gray, peach goo fights with Ophelia and Tenor and HatGuy, wandering around DC with an unlimited Metro pass and no parental supervision, the road trip to Southern Oregon with Cassandra and Shorty and Shrimpy, zip-lining in Hannah's backyard and falling off, watching Hot Rod with Jay-EE and Lil Clay, Shorty running into a handicapped parking sign with her face, singing the Water Buffalo song in a final round of impromptu and WINNING,

First: Serious sharing of testimony, pregnant friend, time on a subway, time in a cab, time throwing up in a museum, time being 18, time hating a friend, time at a Sounders game,

Most nostalgic songs: Mood Rings, Butterflies and Hurricanes, I've Got Friends, Shankhill Butchers, the Water Buffalo song, Na Na Na, Float, Scalliwag, Nine in the Afternoon, Famous Last Words, Ain't No Rest For the Wicked, Sara Smiles, Resistance, Apres Moi, Soul Meets Body, Fever

Favorite memories: Summer Waterfights, star gazing with Gray and Ophelia, singing the doxology with Ophelia and Tenor and Sethasaurus in the peach fields, hanging with Calvin and practicing duo, my amazing speech club, being kidnapped by Gray and Ophelia and HatMan and MusicMan, painting my face green at a Sounders game with Pipsqueak, being a penguin with Wrath, and then with Cassandra and the Professor and Ms. Incredible, singing nonsense with Ms. Incredible, debating with Mr.Affable and then against him in Finals.

Major Hits: Mrs. Jackson, chains in my hair, little black dresses and little black swimsuits, Pass-A-Grille Florida, classy high heels, team policy debate, peppermint hot chocolates,

Best Books: Mr. Monster, I Don't Want To Kill You, the Book Thief, I Am the Messenger, Alan Wake, I Surf Therefore I Am, not a fan, The Once and Future King,

Best Music: Paul Baloche, Muse, the Decemberists, Peter Bradley Adams, My Chemical Romance, Coldplay, Manchester Orchestra, Michael Buble, Three Days Grace, Three Doors Down, Panic! At the Disco, Matt Redman, Christ Tomlin

Keywords: big ball of negative emotions, fast, slow, euphoric, resolution, confession, hopeless romantic

Keywords [inside joke edition]:Rubbish -heap, sweetie-lambkin, trippy, cool beans, Gertrude and Alfonso

Favorite teacher:Mr. McDevitt

Best quotes: "Sprague. It's like Prague plus sprouts minus the tasty."

Well, I hope you can make yourself comfortable, 2012. There's a guest bedroom back there if you plan on sticking around for long.

B

Grey Falling

2011-12-29T15:19:00.001-08:00

This time of year never ceases to strike me with a wicked sense of melancholy. The setting of the seasons brings another hue of grey to a constantly-darkening world, and the new year promises darker than the last.

When I was younger, life was easily explained in black and white. Good always won, evil always lost. I was content to let my parents talk softly in the kitchen, because they were adults and adults always become concerned over things that warrant no further contemplation. Bad things happened in the world, and I was content to let them remained unexplained. People are always defined by what they say, they always act in absolutes, they're always logically consistent with themselves.

Of course, being younger, I couldn't express this coherently: I just knew. The world works in one way and in one way only. But that is no longer the case. This darkening sky grows deeper daily, weekly, yearly, and I, as an individual, am powerless to stop it.

People are no longer merely black and white. Sometimes evil men do things and get away with it. "Good" applies to no one, and sometimes evil men do good things, much to the dismay of my simpler self. Now I know what my parents softly discuss, and even worse, I know why. Bad things happen in the world, and there is no explanation.

And every year, things get more complicated. With whom do I spend my time? Who are my confidants? How do I express myself? How will I spend the next 60 years of life? But even more importantly, how will I spend the next minute? The next hour of life?

Where will I go to college? What about dating? Do I support my spoken-for friends? Are their relationships more important than my friendship?

Am I willing to sacrifice for a cause greater than myself? How much is too much? Does that sacrifice even matter in the grand scheme of things? ~~How much of a difference can one teenaged, angsty, sheltered, shy, reserved, and timid girl make in her lifetime?~~

"What if it was true, that all we thought was right, was wrong?"

I used to read many books with courageous, plucky heroines, hoping that their bravery and fortitude would help me find mine. Increasingly, I find myself more like Peregrin Took, swept up in an adventure... quest... thing...

...With only my good intentions and bumbling nature to help me out. And try as I might, good intentions nearly always bring more trouble upon myself and others.

I realize this is not a terribly encouraging thought to end 2011 with. It suits, though. Overwhelmingly, 2011 has been the year of indecision.

2011-12-07T07:12:00.001-08:00

We are gathered together today to mourn the passing of an new acquaintance, Fall Quarter 2011. When this post goes live, I will have completed my last final, and consequently, last class until 2012. This morning, loaded up with little sleep, plenty of feel-good substances- in the form of peppermint hot chocolate and a magnesium supplement (squee!) - and a whole lot of shambling-zombieness, I stumbled onto campus to meet an entirely different beast.

Public transit and college campuses at night are very different from the day time. Compared to night rides, a day trip on the bus feels positively communal. And my campus? Well, let's just say it's the perfect setting for a slasher movie in the dark.

Ahem. So another one bites the dust. I'm officially starting Christmas break. Which means college applications, reference requests, a health class, and catching up with friends. Am I ready? Two words: BRING IT.

But maybe after I get some sleep.

Living in Interesting Times

2011-12-05T09:22:00.001-08:00

It may intrigue my readers to learn that, in fifteen minutes, I will be leaving for an appointment with an acupuncturist.

Carpets of Rust

2011-12-02T08:13:00.001-08:00

You may recall my post from a few weeks ago, Excruciating Apathy, and the sort of day where this apathy strikes the most. Yesterday was one of those days. I was walking around the college campus literally expecting to see a unicorn poke its pointy head out from around a corner.

In terms of scenery, yesterday was perfect. A thick fog heavily draped itself around everything outside, and once the sun had risen, shafts of liquid yellow hung suspended in it, waiting where the sun had left them lying between the trees. There were carpets of rust everywhere I looked, and bare branches defiantly challenged clear sky escaping from the fog. Here and there, a few hopeful trees clung on to their leaves, lifting arms filled with color high into the air. As the sun hit them, the leaves turned to flames, lighting the trees from within. The evergreens stood stolidly by, gaunt and stark but ever so graceful. When the fog burned off, it left a ghost of itself to waft through the crisp, cold, clear autumn air.

I love the Northwest.

IT IS FINISHED

2011-11-29T15:26:00.001-08:00

for now, at least. After 29 days of writing day and night (actually it was mostly day except for the time I wrote 10,000 words long hand on an airplane), I am now the proud owner of a 59,998 word monstrosity.

National Novel Editor's Month, here I come. Though, maybe after my finals.

Nightwatchmen

2011-11-17T08:05:00.001-08:00

The moon shone down on the clearing in front of me, illuminating the guards on border duty. They paced up and down the boundary, bodies relaxed but eyes watching for the next enemy attack. My feet crushed the long, wet grass at the border's corner, releasing a sweet smell into the chill night air. I shivered as I surveyed my responsibility, wondering where my enemy would come from. As I crouched, leaning in towards the border, I hoped that she wouldn't come near me. The raid had been entirely unexpected, and I'd had no time to prepare for my duties.

An indistinct shape detached itself from the gloom across the clearing and slowly moved my way. I could hear it -- no, her -- breathing quietly as it crept ever closer to my border. Her furtive movements were betrayed by a rustle of clothes. I tensed, sinews tightening below my skin in an altogether pleasant manner, ready to spring into movement at the slightest provocation. Above all, I could not allow her to endanger our center of operations, the priceless item we had been charged to protect.

The moon cast indistinct shadows across the wet ground, obscuring the terrain so that when my enemy finally darted towards the border, I paused momentarily to ensure I wasn't running after a mere shadow. Our feet pounded moistly as I pursued her across the clearing, and my heart began beating a fanciful cadence at the sudden motion. Yard by yard, we grew closer to her objective, and I could hear the cries of my comrades as they fought their own enemies. I had no back-up, no support should she capture our prize.

My feet began slipping on the dewy leaves - there was not much time before I would lose control of my momentum. She was getting dangerously close to my responsibility, and I quickened my step, hoping to outrun the inevitable. There were ten yards, five yards, and I felt my feet sliding from under me. With one last burst of energy and speed, I threw myself into the air. The wind rushed past my face, whipping bits of my hair at my eyes with a vengeance. I could no longer see her, but just as I thought I had missed her in the dark, my hands made contact with her back. My entire body careened at hers, and we both crashed to the ground, sliding several more feet to stop at the foot of the flag.

It's the simple things in life that matter;
like tackling Gray during a night game of capture the flag.

Whirling Dervish

2011-11-15T08:15:00.001-08:00

This weekend was so jammed with awesome that I can barely think coherently as I try to type this post out. On Friday, I went to the Christian Musician's Summit, and had a Big Idea about hypocrisy and joy. On Saturday, I judged a noviceling debate tournament, and flew to California to chill with Milan and SirSarcasm. During the flight, I had a big idea about perspective and about weighting values. Then, on Sunday and through Monday, I found the words to express a Third Big Idea that has been in the works for a couple months now.

Normally, when I have a Big Idea, I will write a blog post about it. But as it is, I have far too much swirling through my head. Caffeine, sleeping aid (because I didn't actually go to bed until sometime this morning), three Big Ideas, and some worries about class. So I think I"ll just shamble off with my coffee and try not to fall asleep in class. However, expect some more Ideas to be up soon.

"Just Friends" part 2

2011-11-10T19:07:00.001-08:00

A quick caveat: this post contains some content slightly more mature than my usual fare. I know that I have younger followers, and I don't want to catch you unaware. You have been warned.

Last year, during my final year as a competitive speaker (and debater), I went out on a limb and asked Calvin to do a duo interpretation with me. If done well, duos are the most amazing thing ever. Two people act out a piece of literature without the aid of costumes, eye contact, or physical contact between the two.

Calvin is a pretty incredible person. He is funny, creative, musical, and I guess people would say that he's good looking. I don't really remember registering that because I don't buy into normal ideals concerning beauty/attractiveness. You could say he fits into the iconic "tall, dark, and handsome" category. Least you get too positive impression, he does have his faults: Coca-Cola may well be his Achilles' heel. I don't think I've ever seen him turn a bottle of it down, and have memories of him carrying a two-liter around with him at tournaments.

Overall, he's a pretty neat guy. As duo partners, we ended up spending quite a bit of time around each other - both at coop and sometimes on the weekends. I remember joking once that "you know your social life is messed up when you invite your duo partner over more than your close friends." Don't get me wrong: I enjoyed hanging with Calvin, and did indeed consider him a good friend, but the fact remains. I saw him more than pretty much any of my friends.

I never directly experienced this next detail of my introduction, but Wrath, Calvin's younger brother (also a friend of mine) would recount to me how multiple people had asked him (Wrath) if he(Calvin) and I were dating. Why? Because every week at school we'd cloister ourselves in a staircase to work on the speech. No more, no less. It is at this point that I should mention the gratuitous endearments in our piece: "Sweetie-lambkin," "Darling," "Angel" and "Precious" all make frequent appearances in the piece.

I found these reports, and the funny looks from girls (who felt who-knows-what about these disappearances) rather funny. While Calvin wasn't in a relationship at the time, the mere idea that two such people as ourselves would ever be "compatible" was laughable to the extreme.

But let me add on final element to this introduction, and it shall be complete. There is a long-standing tradition (or at the very, least, a firmly established predilection) that duo partners of the opposite sex and entirely unrelated to each other tend to: a. be seeing each other and/or b. will eventually get married.

And homeschooling mothers doing what they do best (A wedding?! When? Who? You don't say! How exciting!), both Calvin and I inevitably had to face certain ... pointed inqueries from parents in the league. To this day, I am left wondering what they thought of a match between a tall-dark-and-handsome guy and a short-blond-and-not girl...

My usual response was something along the lines of this: "Calvin? Oh no, we're just friends. I mean, come on, we'd kill each other within a week."

I hated having to say "we're just friends." But let me put any skewed interpretations to rest. I wasn't pining away in a corner, hoping that one day he'd look my way or whatever mindless drivel you think I meant by that statement.

We're just friends.

As if there is something dishonorable, diminishing about that fact. As if, the worth of relationship would suddenly increase if you add a little snogging to the mix.

"Just Friends" implies a certain contempt for purely platonic, unadulterated (in the most literal way possible) friendship between chaps and chapesses. I mean, we already get a great level of brainwashing in regards to any young woman'sworth.

If you pay attention to the pressure of mainstream society, women (ie, teenagers and twenty-somethings because they're they only women that matter and count anyways) are only good if the fulfill these criteria:

They're well-endowed (perhaps artificially), promiscuous creatures who go through boyfriends faster than I can tear a hole in my nylons. Their worth is found in seducing brutish men with animal like instincts (seriously, men, you can take *a little* time on your personal appearance and not come off like a sissy). They finally conquer "the system" by living with a boyfriend who acts more like a boy than a grown man. They're not afraid to show off their bodies to the best possible advantage, by which I mean altering the appearance of their faces with heavy cosmetics, squeezing themselves into uncomfortably tight clothing and practically starving themselves all for the sake of a few passionate nights before they hit the mundanity of middle age.

If a girl like myself chooses she doesn't want to date around and enjoy this amazing utopia of youth, and instead wishes to enjoy honest friendships with quality young men, she is regulated to the dust bin of the "just friends." How demeaning is that?

Oh, you're not good enough for that guy? You're only friends with him. Must have left the push-up bra at home when you met him. Just not girlfriend material, I'm afraid. Too bad. We'll have to do better with the next one. Learn from our mistakes - always be prepared in case of an emergency.

How can friendship be despised like this? Why is a relationship, not based on sex, so -- well, threatening, in a way - that people must belittle those who don't bring seduction into their equation?

Since when is a coarse twice-over a good substitute for a genuine smile?

Why is a random, five minute flirtation with a mildly good-looking stranger more valuable than a good hour spent with an ugly friend?

Why should a relationship be measured by the depth of a french-kiss than the depth of the conversation?

And since when do I, as a young woman, need to demean myself and my body to a group of lascivious, lecherous, lewd, and carnal punks in order to gain any sort of self-fulfillment?

The people in my generation must be incredibly prosaic if they feel they have no other basis for a relationship other than the biological fact that one is a boy and the other, a girl. Can we really find no other common ground, no starting spot for friendship, than biology?

Friendship is more than a mere placeholder until a more salacious relationship. I have major issues with the phrase "we're just friends," because, as an idealist, I strongly and firmly believe that a friendship is innately beautiful, in and of itself; that the worth of a relationship is measured in how much I can encourage and support my friends; and that the worth of a friend is found in their being, not their body.

Ex Machina

2011-11-09T15:46:00.000-08:00

Have I mentioned that I'm super excited about my NaNovel? Well, I'm pretty sure I've posted this excerpt on my blog before. However, I repurposed it for my book, and since I'm currently stuck on a point in my writing, I figured I'd take a break and re-post part of the prologue from my book. A brief caveat: if you have a problem with gore/disgusting stuff, stop reading now.

Prologue:

It was a room of broken glass. Two partially decayed cadavers in now grey lab coats were slumped by the door. One was twisted, hands grasping for purchase on the smooth wall. Decaying skin and tendons fell away from moldering bones. In some areas, the clothing was falling apart, and a light coat of dust had settled on it.
The cadaver’s companion was in no better condition. It sat slumped in a chair nest to a desk, a little way away from the door. A small hole in its skull was visible on the left temple, and the right ear and side of the face were obliterated. A spray of gore lay dried on the table and floor. A hand gun, dropped from the hand of the scientist, now rested on the ground. In the blood left from his suicide, a bullet mingled, half obscured by a fragment of bone. Beyond the dead scientists, pedestals three feet in diameter were arranged in a grid. Shards of glass were scattered across the floor, lying where they had fallen when they had broken. On some pedestals, remnants of glass tubes still stood, wires and drips dangling over puddles of crystallized fluid.
A few corpses or parts of corpses were held aloft by more firmly attached life support systems. They dangled like broken marionettes over a thick carpet of decaying bodies. Here or there an arm, still attached to the wires, rose from this putrid sea.

She saw it all, and wondered. A faint pulsing came to her attention. She moved over the glass, liquid, and contorted bodies toward the vibration. It came from a far side of the room.
In a corner, blue-green fluorescent lighting replaced the sterile white of the room. On last pedestal stood alone, away from the ordered chaos of the grid. Liquid still filled part of the unbroken tube, but did not reach the top. Another rotting corpse in a grey lab coat rested thigh deep in fluid, held upright by wires and medical tubes. The throbbing came from inside the pedestal, apparently powering the useless life support system.
She drifted closer. As she moved, the knowledge of her surroundings changed. She felt something. Experienced something in the way she hadn’t for a long time. She was startled. She hadn’t felt anything since she became what she was.
It was startled too. No, not an ‘it’. He. He was startled as well.

Justice

2011-11-08T21:11:00.000-08:00

I am writing this post on the bus in one of my many surplus journals. You might wonder why I have so many: I certain do. I usually blame it on a group of friends who give me them faster than I can use them up. This post will be transferred to the web sometime this evening, and if I'm feeling terribly obnoxious, I'll upload this prelude as well just to mess with you.

~*~

For the past few weeks, I have been conducting an informal survey of my friends and acquaintances concerning the recent death of Libya's Colonel Moammar Gaddafi. More specifically, I have been straw polling them on their opinions about the transitionary government's handling of Gaddafi's old government and supporters. For information, follow these links to the BBC.

The reason behind this line of questioning was two-fold. First, I needed to remind myself with whom it was safe to discuss politics (or entertaining, as an alternative), and to prepare for this post. If I didn't ask you and you feel terribly left out, just jump down to the comments and raise your voice - don't forget to leave your opinion. Do you see what I just did there? If you did, comment.

Here are the facts, as I understand them. Many officials within the late Colonel Gaddafi's government, including his son Mutassim and defense secretary Abu Bakr Younes died under murky circumstances, often connected with capture by the rebels. Gaddafi himself was seen, living, in a viral video taken just after his capture, but was reported deceased later that day. Since August, sites filled with the remains of mass murders against Gaddafi supporters have been found throughout the country. The provisional government currently has one of his ministers and his personal driver in custody, awaiting trial.

When conversing with these friends, I got a wide display of reactions. There were a few "They totally got what they paid for! It's freaking awesome that they're dead;" quite a lot of "that's really for the Libyans to decide;" a few "It wasn't ideal but they deserved it;" and one "should I know that name?"

Far and away the most interesting answer was from a new friend from school. This friend, who, in my notes was given the blog name River because it amused me at the time and he was important enough to this post to deserve a name, said something along the lines of this.

"It wasn't ideal, but then again, I"m not sure what else they could have done. It doesn't really set a good foundation for their government, especially if they want to claim to be a democracy."

I found this sentiment interesting for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that he put into words something that I'd been unable to vocalize for a while.

I am going to totally ignore the fact that the Libyan militia is not disbanding for fear that politicians will disappoint yet again. While tangentially related to this topic, I'm not here to talk about keeping politicians honest. As an American, I am hardly one to talk.

The way the provisional Libyan government handled the transfer of power had bothered me ever since I learned of Gaddafi's demise. I'm going to make a logical leap here that you might not follow at first.

At the end of World War Two (observe how very carefully I avoid the reductio ad Hitlerum fallacy) , the Allies ended up capturing a bunch of senior Nazi officials who needed to be held responsible for the atrocities that some of them helped commit. I say "some of them" because not all of them were responsible for the Final Solution and it's rather detrimental effects.

The Allies selected the US attorney General, and later Supreme Court Justice Robert Jackson to draw a code governing the trial that would ensure all accused men really received justice, not revenge. How this man managed to draw a code that avoided both the trap of post facto law and stopped the Nazis from merely hiding behind "I followed orders and nothing more" is a really heroic story, but one for another time. My point in bringing this up is to point to an historical example where people were out for blood but still managed to do the right thing -- namely, extend justice to oppressors.

Do you see the link?

Now, especially considering my debate case from last year (self-determination ring a bell, anyone?), I will firmly uphold the Libyan provisional government's right to deal with law breakers under and through the law. However, what bothered me was a lack of trial for Gaddafi and his leaders. Yes, they may have deserved to die, but they also deserved to have charges formally brought against them and the opportunity to defend themselves from those charges.

Is it really such a good foundation for a democracy to rest upon the murdered (note: not executed) bones of the previous government? I would say that no, no it is not. I think my friend really got it, but I don't know what else they could have done. In this instance, I merely point an accusatory finger and offer no solution.

There was another aspect of these past few weeks that disturbed me greatly. It was the opinions of my peers regarding this particular subject. To quote one of the first people I asked and who shall go unnamed because I agree with Thumper: "Good riddance. He and they were all evil men and the earth is better off without them. They knew what they were doing, so I applaud the fighters for doing away with them. Sic Semper Tyrannus."

Friends, this statement should make you cringe inside. America has long held a light of sorts regarding the importance of criminal trials and the idea of "innocent until proven guilty." While in practice, we have been known to fall short, the fact remains that these are our ideals, and unlike Groucho Marx, we have no others. We should be sticking to the values we hold dear.

I was deeply, deeply disturbed to hear so many of my friends express themselves in support of a regime that does not even bother with a kangaroo court and simply skips to the bit about executions.

What does it say of Americans if we are so willing to abandon the ideals of justice and support mere, base revenge? And please don't give me the real politik answer and tell me that it's in America's best long term interests to prostitute her ideals for a little support in Northern Africa. We did nothing to stop this from happening.

While there is a valid argument to be made that United States forces and weaponry should not have been deployed in Libya in the first place, the fact remains that NATO was there. NATO was originally founded to protect Western Europe and its values, and last time I checked, these values included the right to a fair trial.

Why do we love stories about Robin Hood? He was a thief who stole from people. He was no mere thief, though, because he did the right thing. While he stole from wealthy people, he returned the money to the people who originally possessed it.

The people of Libya, especially Eastern Libya, rebelled because their government was not upholding justice. Gaddafi executed his political opponents en masse, and other basic freedoms were denied to the people. Be this as it may, the way the rebels dealt with the government, once overthrown, was no better than the previous administration. A democracy built upon that foundation cannot stand for long, nor will one whose citizens so openly approve of state-sponsored revenge.

~*~
There you have it: my rant for the week. I'd love to hear any and all feedback on this.

NaNo Update

2011-11-04T12:21:00.000-07:00

I've decided to do something a little different with NaNo this year. Because Tuesdays and Thursdays are obscenely busy days for me - I have a spare hour in the middle of the day, which isn't enough for me to plink out 1,667 words in - I've decided to take an alternate track to writing SubRosa. By the way, I've decided to change the novel name. Why? Because SubRosa doesn't adequately foreshadow the problem. From now on, my NaNovel will be called Ex Machina, which, if you are one of the nonexistent lucky people to read it, will make considerably more sense.

Ahem. As I was saying, I'm taking an alternate track to writing Ex Machina. I plan on writing 2,381 words on every day but Tuesdays and Thursdays. And based on that solution, I am actually ahead of schedule. I have written (notice the number on the handy sidebar) 5593 words in two days of writing, while I only needed to have written 4,762. You can imagine the great sense of accomplishment I feel.

My chapters are turning out to be shorter than expected, with more telling and not enough showing, but I plan on coming back and elaborating on that once I have the story outlined in a draft.

In Defense of Facts

2011-11-03T20:30:00.000-07:00

I have the sinking suspicion that, were I to die tomorrow, the thing most of my friends and acquaintances could agree on is that I know a lot of trivia. It makes me terribly self-concious.

NaNoWriMo

2011-11-02T12:57:00.000-07:00

"If a Wrimo is a measurement of literary quality, how good is a NaNoWriMo?"

I fancy myself an author, from time to time. The past few years, I have, unsuccessfully, competed in NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writers Month. For the very few of you who may not know what this is, during NaNoWriMo, writers from around the world attempt to write 50,000 or more word novels in the course of 30 days.

I completed it, once. It was a great piece of avant-garde fiction. It made little to no sense, but I felt a great sense of accomplishment.

I had no plans to compete this year. My horror/supernatural novel from last year, Sub Rosa, petered out right around day 10, when I realized that I had made my Eldritch Abomination so powerful and so sneaky that: 1. My active hero had no way of discovering what the problem was, and 2. had no way of solving the problem.

And that, folks, is a huge problem when it comes to writing novels. If you can't unveil the conflict, let alone solve it, you're in for a really bad book. Not, of course, that this year's book will be any better.

But I have an exciting announcement to make. Last night, I had a case of reverse Fridge Brilliance. If you don't know what that is, go to tvtropes.org and look it up. Anyways, last night, I had a flash of inspiration. Yes, you've got it, friends. I figured out how to defeat the Abomination.

Don't mention the fact that I have no names for the characters in my story. Don't mention the fact that I just lost a valuable NaNo day by not writing. No. I am going to give this story my best shot. And for the record, my word count is now 2,169.

I'm on a roll.

Excruciating Apathy

2011-11-01T12:00:00.000-07:00

I like the cold. There is something peculiar about it that seems to wake me up, gasping for air. Just walking outside on a day like today makes things seem ... vibrant; colorful; alive. The cold breaks my illusions of apathy.

Did I say apathy? It's excruciating. Everyone gets grey days once in a while: days when everyday tasks lose all sense of meaning and when the only thing worthwhile is sleeping in a warm, dark room. Or watching reruns of Dr. Who. But this apathy isn't a mere grey day. It's misty - the way the Cascades get in late autumn when the leaves are drifting off the trees like flakes of rust. When trees and cars and ladies walking their dogs loom out of a slight haze along a deserted road. Those days it's possible to believe that unicorns exist, that chivalry never died, and that distressing damsels may hike along the path enjoying the peaceful death of summer and suddenly find themselves swept up in an adventure.

I feel like one of those damsels right now, and have for a while. The things that, by all accounts, I should be concerning myself with simply hold no sway over me. College applications? Yeah, I should start thinking about those. Take the SAT again? That too. Scholarship essays or competitions? They'd be good to prepare for. Oh, and a job. I should get a regular job.

I simply can't stop stargazing to worry about the insects.

If life is an adventure, then the teenage years must be like climbing a mountain to get to the valley of middle age. I have nothing against the valley. It must be pleasant, or else so many people wouldn't be heading down into it. I can even see some stray adventures lurking behind copses and below bridges.

But I'm enjoying the difficulty of my climb. I just want to keep climbing, until I reach the top, and then the stars, and then universe. Some people, when they've gotten this far, bound up the final rise to enjoy the view from the top of the mountain. Not me. I enjoy the trees and the rock piles more.

I feel like something's wrong with me. There are certain people in my life who are trying to pull me ever on to the path, but the open mountainside is calling me: I want to climb. Get out of my way, I'm going up.

There's nothing wrong with going to college, getting a "real" job, getting married, joining the PTA. Except, I don't have the practical dreams that will adequately prepare me for a future filled with jobs, marriage, the obligatory minivan.

It's fine if you have those dreams. There's a reason we have that tradition. But I want to live in the cold. I want to live in the frigid, breath-stealing, vital, exuberant cold of life.

And so, these certain people, many of whom I respect immensely, do me a great disservice. The path is comfort, the path is warmth, the path is complacency and decay and the surrendering of the undisclosed desires in my heart.

I have this excruciating apathy about the things that should matter to me. Increasingly, I've come to the realisation that I will never be content in the warmth of the expected. Yesterday on the bus, a man noticed my violin case. He asked if I ever played on the street for money.

"Why play for money when you could play for joy?"

I want the tingling, burning, pleasant touch of frost upon my face. I want to join my dreams in the stars, not content to summit the next rise, but to summit my own Everest. I want to live in the cold for the rest of my life.

A Perfect Illusion

2011-10-31T12:01:00.000-07:00

Today is Halloween, in case you hadn't figured that out by now. It's the day where ordinary citizens enjoy dressing up as things they would never want to be in real life. Wander into any costume store and you'll find all the equipment to transform yourself into pretty much any unsavory character to party the night away.

Granted, today Halloween falls on a Monday, which would suggest that people, perhaps, partied the night away on Saturday rather than tonight. This certainly seemed true then, while I was wandering the streets of Seattle in search of an elixir of youth. But this is all entirely aside the point.

When I went into one such costume shop earlier this autumn to acquire a fake mustache (It was my birthday, and I did what I wanted to), I found a veritable cornucopia of cheesy costumes. There were vaguely Gothic looking plastic swords, maces, morning stars, and num chucks. We had the creepy-doll masks, the Phantom of the Opera style masks (which, ironically, cost more than a full face, blank white mask), we had hoods that made it look like we had no heads. There were plastic knives with red goo inside that dripped, vaguely like blood, when inverted. There was fake scar tissue, vampire fangs, fake blood and pus. In short, a rather typical costume shop just prior to Halloween. Of course, this brief overview would not do without the mention of the obligatory sexy nurse, nun, firefighter, paramedic, vampire, werewolf, adventuress, Egyptian, [insert your poison here], mobster, angel, demon costumes for young women desiring to raise men's heart rate from more than mere fright.

The point that I am rather unsuccessfully driving at is this: No one really wants to be scared at Halloween. Not really. The kids are in it for the candy, the middle aged men with slight bellies are in to surprise the kids, the eligible young twenty-somethings are in it because it's the only time that dressing in incredibly provacative, still strangely fantastical, costumes and partying hard is an expectation.

On an entirely unrelated sidenote, this is why I can't stand traditional Halloween celebrations. Not what Thursday and Laura and Qwip and I have done on occasion re:Creepy Caroling. I hate the extra pressure women get to dress seductively during this time. Because, after all, if your costume doesn't expose a certain amount of skin, you will never be the life of the party. And that's the only thing women are good for nowadays. Decoration.

Ahem. As I was saying. No one really wants to be scared at Halloween. Those plastic "knives" dripping "blood" are patently unrealistic. So are the "velvet" robes and the "faceless" masks. When we open the door on some teenagers, let's forget the fact that they're a wee bit too old to be trick-or-treating, and find ourselves confronted by some ghoul with blood running down its face and the hint of glasses behind the eye-holes, the first impulse is not to faint or slam the door. No. We give them candy.

Imagine with me, if you would, a different scenario. Say that, on one night of the year, a man comes to your house after dark. His face is hidden in shadow, he doesn't speak, and you see he's holding a knife that looks pretty wet with something, you can't see what in the dark, but you get the general impression it's red.

Imagine with me, that this man steps up to the very threshold of your house, and holds out his hand. As he comes in to the light a little more, his eyes glitter inside his hood. But still, you see nothing inside.

Now, let me ask you a question. At this point in a movie, ominous music starts playing, and you'd probably be laughing at the cheesiness of it all. But let me ask you a question. If this happened to you in real life, would you be scared? If you found a stranger on your porch, bleeding viciously, would you decide "hey, this is fun, we should start doing this every year"? If, for those of you in Washington, the Green River killer so much as escaped, let along showed up on your doorstep, would you feel the clammy presence of terror?

I would. People don't want to be scared on Halloween. They want to feel smug. After all, if we can bravely face down a group of teenagers in cheap costume makeup and some plastic knives, we can certainly weather whatever storms life must throw at us. Halloween is just another way that our culture drives itself to complacency.

There were times in the past when the things we dress up as for jokes were very real terrors. When witchcraft, or vampirism were panic inducing. Need I remind you of the Bluebeard, or most of the Grimm Brother's fairy tales? The fears Odysseus faced during his 20 years at sea. Or look to Foxe's Book of Martyrs for examples of the awful things humanity is capable of.

And then tell me that dressing up as an executioner on Halloween is such a laugh. Halloween is not a celebration of fear, it's a celebration of false courage: yet another way that we try to lie to ourselves. The American Dream is, of course, not complete without a lack of fear. And if we can delude ourselves that monsters do exist, we can tell ourselves anything.

"He who battles with monsters must take care lest he also become a monster; and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." Nietzsche

A State Resembling Intoxication

2011-10-29T19:36:00.000-07:00

"The young are permanently in a state resembling intoxication."

This quote is attributed to Aristotle, but Problematic is too tired to verify that fact at the moment.

I want to update my dearly beloved readers about the current state of my resolution, the details of which you may find a few posts ago in my archives. This past Wednesday was a planning day at the college I attend, and because I suddenly found myself without anything to occupy my time - aside from studying for two midterms - I decided to occupy myself with something else. It was thus that I found myself calling her to propose a morning of vagrancy in the town of Issaquah. My delight was enormous when she agreed, and was only improved upon by the prospect of making music with her.

So last Wednesday, I headed down to Issaquah, Ignatius in tow - you can tell this was important because of his presence - and had an absolutely wonderful time bumming around town with her and Matthias. Enough jollity ensued that it did seem, at least for a while, that we were in a state resembling intoxication.

In my defense, chai tea lattes, music, and a good friend tend to have that effect on me.

Anyways, I would like to point you over to Gray's blog, where you can both read about our minor adventure and listen to one of our creations.

Here's the link.

The Tempest and the Tea Kettle

2011-10-26T16:23:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about death recently. And not merely the affect one's death might have on oneself. Death: the termination or extinction of something. The death of a season, of a mood or a period. The death of a relationship, of a friendship, of a hero. The termination of an adventure or a hope. The passing of summer into autumn, from life and vitality to lethargy, decay.

But on a much smaller scale, I've been thinking about the death of an individual. Setting aside all thoughts of life after death, why does death affect us so much? It is not so much the snuffing out, the abandoning of natural life for a new existence. It is the absence we feel the most, and I've struggled with writing this post for weeks. How do you eulogize someone you love dearly?

My grandfather died two weeks ago. His memorial service was held one week ago. Yet, despite the time slowly trickling in to fill the gaps, I feel as if I have not mourned him properly. My thoughts are like the tempest, trapped inside an egg-shell thin tea pot with no chance of escape. Since his death, I've found my thoughts becoming more and more scattered, like the rubber shavings from a partially erased drawing.

Even now, I can feel that I am not doing this right. So bear with me as I attempt to describe why the Major meant so much to me.

My earliest memories of him go back to the time when they are mere impressions and snippets - polaroid snapshots, not high-definition film. I remember the kangaroo on the back of the RV he and my grandmother stayed in when they visited us. I remember the feel of gravel shifting under my feet as I make my way to the steps where they stood. I remember vague impressions from my Dad that the Major was a Good Man. And I remember the firm, fully engaged yet completely relaxed "thereness" when I sat in his lap.

Every year on my birthday, I call my grandparents to thank them for their birthday gifts, and every year, the one I look forward to is the Major's call. The Baskin and Robbins gift cards slowly transitioned into Barnes and Noble or Borders cards.

And I was growing up. One year, I called the Major, and asked him to tell me his story. It was for a class assignment: I had to interview someone about their life, and write a paper. The Major was the only one I was brave enough to call.

He was born in 1922, but lied about his age so that he could enter World War Two, carrying on his family's tradition. The Major (though he was not one yet) was set to work supervising the building of air force bases in the Pacific Theatre. In one notable instance, the base he was assigned to build in 30 days was completed four days ahead of schedule because of his ingenuity.

When I asked him about his most vivid memory, the Major spoke softly about the October of 1944. The ship he was stationed on was stuck on a sandbar in the Phillipines, carrying a load full of highly flammable and/or explosive materials. Included were tinfuls of carbite, a material that, when exposed to water, releases highly explosive gases. Due to an incredible "coincidence," the Major was not in his bunk one evening when a kamikaze struck that portion of the ship. Flames spread to across the deck and into the hold, endangering the gasoline, oxygen tanks, dynamite, grease, rags, and other construction materials stored above and below decks. The Major was tasked with taking care of the 90-some men burned by the attack, who, as he recalled later, were so badly burnt they didn't realise they were injured.

The Major re-enlisted after the war, and was eventually placed in charge of a battalion of the Army Corps of Engineers. During the Korean War, when his battalion was sent overseas, the Major was placed in charge of building the only nuclear power plant in Alaska. He retired from active duty in 1961, continuing to serve in the civil service until 1972.

By the time I entered the scene as a squalling infant, the Major had retired into a comfortable, if quiet, life of Tom Clancy novels. As I grew older, we began to connect over books. We began recommending books to each other around the time I was ten, with the knowledge that the other was extremely unlikely to ever read the recommendations. After all, I could hardly expect a World War Two veteran to read poorly written pulp fiction about girls and their horses, and he could hardly expect me to read brutally written books about political manoeuvring and war. But as the years passed, I started to read his type of books. I'd tell him about the Communist Manifesto, or the Wealth of Nations, or another book that I'd started to read. He took a great deal of interest the year I was debating about US isolationistic policies. The fact of the matter is, the Major and I had a strong, if quiet and often overlooked, connection.

I remember when he came to the Northwest for my brother's graduation and Eagle Scout ceremony. I remember driving with my parents past the house the Major used to live in just outside of Forks, Washington. I remember, this last summer, visiting him in Florida.

He told me I could look through his book shelf and see if there were any I was interested in. But he couldn't part with the ones I requested when the time came. I remember the last thing I said to him. "I love you, Grandad. Be good."

I've been thinking about death a lot recently. Death of a relationship, death of a presence. The Major wasn't so much as a constant figure in my life as a comforting, strong presence always lurking somewhere in the back of my mind. When I hear military news and scandals, something inside me always asks 'what would he think?"

And now, that presence is gone. I can't carry on as I once did. I find that I miss him terribly.

Resolution

2011-10-19T21:59:00.000-07:00

I'm going to go out on a limb and write about another confession. I know what your reaction is going to be, even as I write this. About half of my dear readers will lean towards the screen, raveningly eager for yet another glimpse into my psyche. Another group, overlapping with the first, will pull out a text book and begin yet another psychological profile of Problematic. A few of you will lean back, concern written over your face, and wonder what new thing you'll be having to pray about in Problematic's life.

And I can practically guarantee you that a couple will have stopped reading at this point, and gone to do something far more fulfilling with their lives than waste another 5 minutes reading my jumbled thoughts. They might be smarter than any of us.

No matter. This reaction has yet to convince me not to write. I am, above all else, an ineffably optimistic authoress with no qualms over inflicting an uncaring world with my musings. There are over 6 billion people on the earth, so I know that at least one of them will like what I have to say.

Enough of the introduction. I have a confession to make, friends. Perhaps "confession" is not the correct word. Declaration? Statement? Proclamation? They are all correct.

Friends, I have an announcement. It hinges directly on the fact that I recently became a legal adult. Now, a lot of my friends went through a slump after turning 18. I understand the logic. We are adults now. We must behave. When I was a child, I thought and acted like a child: Now that I am grown, I must act like one.

Oddly enough, of all the people I know to get this post-18 complex, the Peter Pan syndrome one didn't. Yes, that's right. Despite my complete dislike of the concept of growing old, I felt no sense of depression or despair at turning 18. In fact, I felt no new compulsion to act my age.

This is where my declaration comes in.

This year, during my 18th year, I will do stupid things.

I can feel your interest rising from here. You really must learn to control yourself. And for the many dubious among you, let me explain myself.

I have spent my entire teenage existence worrying about not being a teenager. I avoided impulses. If I got the urge to do something, I'd do the entire opposite thing. If there was the slightest possibility that my parents might not completely approve or might shake their heads knowingly at my folly, I would put all thought of it from my mind. I would NOT be the typical teenager, pulling pranks and causing their parents many hours of amusement, if not worse. NO SIR. Not I.

I blame the Rebelution for ruining my childhood. I went to it shortly before my 12th birthday, and ever since then, viewed my adolescence as a time for defying all stereotypes. I became a kind of walking killjoy for all my less-inhibited friends.

This resolve was, to a large extent, the root of many of the problems you've seen documented on this blog in recent years.

But then, I started comparing my life to my friends'. The worst thing I had done, in 7 years, was to go to a tattoo parlor to get my ears pierced. Because my mother went with me, that hardly even counted. My friends had: dumped trash on someone's car in revenge for a prank; driven themselves into Seattle to bum around town; fought airsoft battles into the wee hours of the night; and generally lived their lives to the fullest.

Me? I emptied the dishwasher. I went to Pike's Place once or twice a year and NEVER gave money to street musicians. I stayed up in the wee hours of the night studying for test, and generally lived a life of quiet desparation, fulfilling my need for adventure and excitement through countless read-throughs of Sherlock Holmes and the Lord of the Rings.

For years, my favorite book was "The Club of Queer Trades" by GK Chesterton, specifically the one about the Adventure and Romance Agency, Limited. Why? Because I hoped that one day, one year, I'd discover the offices of the Agency and could at least hire myself an adventure.

These comparisons really came to a head when I went on a missions trip this summer to Gleanings for the Hungry. They have this rule about "no throwing fruit," so kids were throwing rotten peach goo instead. They'd drink 2-4 energy drinks on a shift and see who could sing the highest, for longest, and loudest. They Sharpie'd my hair green. They ignored curfew to go out praying. And no, praying is not a euphemism.

I was kind of like a deer in the headlights. I had no idea how to react to any of this. It was so entirely outside my realm of experience, I had to either throw myself into it or shrivel in a corner and bewail the state of my generation.

So when they Sharpie'd my hair green, I peppered their beds, and soaked their wallets in my garishly cheap and awful smelling perfume. I had a taste of what I had determined not to do for so many years. And friends, I'd never had so much fun in my life!

That is why this year, I have resolved to be stupid. I want to learn how to Airsoft, and I want to stay up all night doing it. I want to hike through the Cascades barefoot. I want to go out and dance in the rain, not just walk and insert a couple of small, furtive dance movements into my stride. I want to go to Folklife, and Sasquatch, and go listen to my favorite bands in concert. I want to have a real, down-to-earth conversation with someone I disagree with.

I want to learn to ride a motorcycle, and go on more roadtrips with my friends. I want to make those Sharpie highlights a more permanent fixture and dye my hair with green or blue streaks. I want to get a second piercing in my ears. In essence, this year, I am resolving to be stupid, have tons of fun, and ignore the consequences.

The best part is, I've already begun. I wrote a song for my friend for her birthday, and mixed the awfully sung (on purpose) song onto a CD for her. I now have golden chain extensions in my hair. And I finally worked up the courage to buy the combat boots I've wanted for years. I plan on getting more steampunk stuff, not just classy jewelry, but in-your-face, deal-with-my-gears-or-else hats and goggles and gloves. I'm going to be impulsive, and not stifle the discussions I want to have.

I resolve to be stupid. And to enjoy every minute of it.

I will be posting my bucket list shortly for any fans of my new resolution.

2011-10-19T21:21:00.000-07:00

I will be posting again in a couple of days, but in the meantime, here's something to keep you thinking.

I recently ran across a blog that, to be brutally honest, I am falling in love with. The posts are interesting, pointed - but nuanced (!) - and just a little bit wry. It's such a shame that this blog has only 4 followers as of the time I write. Almost an awful waste. So, as you sit and wait for my next post, you should head over to A Deeper, Darker Ocean Green and check out Kyle's writing.

Especially this post.

Look at all the pretty things

2011-10-13T22:42:00.000-07:00

that steal my heart away. I can feel I'm fading.

I ride the bus in to college every morning. Usually, I put on my iPod and am effectively dead to the world for an hour. But today, I started doing something differently. Since I've started college, I haven't had as much time for devotions as I would like. As a result, I decided to bring my Bible on the bus and have my quiet time while riding. It is a good time, since no one pays attention to anything outside of their electronics. The bus is generally silent as a grave.

After I did my devotions and prayers, I turned on one of my favorite bands: Tenth Avenue North. And as I sat there, I got ... well, I'm not sure exactly what I got. Suddenly, an image popped into my head.

Now, if you're a follower of my friend Hannah, you know she wrote an excellent blog post about the song All The Pretty Things. If you haven't read her, you should check her out here.

As I sat on the bus, I looked around me. A lot of people were sleeping, or just shutting their eyes until their stops. There was a beautiful sunrise outside. The sun was brushing the tops of the trees with this golden light, like how I might brush egg yolk on top of a croissant. It was absolutely gorgeous, and yet no one on the bus had eyes to see it.

We are, we are, we're caught in the in between
Of who we already are and who we are yet to be
And we're looking for love but finding we're still in need
It's only what we have lost will we be allowed to keep

And we're waiting but our eyes are wandering
To all this earth holds dear

Look at all the pretty things
That steal my heart away
I can feel I'm fading
'Cause Lord I love so many things
That keep me from Your face
Come and save me

We run we run to finally be set free
But we're fighting fighting for what we've already received

So we're waiting but our eyes are wandering
To all this earth holds dear

Look at all the pretty things
That steal my heart away
I can feel I'm fading
'Cause Lord I love so many things
That keep me from Your face
Come and save me

We are we are caught in the in between
But we're fighting for what we already have received
We are we are caught in the in between
But we're fighting for what we already have received

Look at all the pretty things
That steal my heart away
I can feel I'm fading
'Cause Lord I love so many things
That keep me from Your face
Come and save me
This is what I saw in that moment. We are all riding on a bus, which winds its way through many neighborhoods, ultimately leading to one destination. We don't open our eyes, because it's just so easy to close them and let stream of life take us where it will. We become complacent - the cushions are just so comfortable. Why get off them and risk exerting ourselves? So we sit, and sleep.

But God isn't content to let us sleep ourselves to Death. He wants us off that bus, running towards Him, not riding away. He opens our eyes, and we get off the bus. But as we run, we pass so many buses heading back to Death, and they all look so appealing. It would be so easy, to just get on one of them, and rest a little bit. It will be alright, we convince ourselves. I'll only rest for a little bit, just to catch my breath. And then I'll start running again.

But God doesn't want us to rest. He doesn't want us to become complacent, distracted. He wants us to fight for "what we already have received." Every time we stop, we go backwards. And every time we get on, it gets that much harder to get back off and keep running.

Are we becoming spiritually obese?

"Just Friends" part 1

2011-10-10T09:57:00.000-07:00

I have always been a firm believer in "just friends." What do that mean? It means that I strongly believe platonic friendship is possible between members of the opposite sex.  

For those of you squeamish with that label, I use "opposite sex" because gender is a term used to describe words. Like how a ship is a "she". That's gender. "Opposite sex" describes humans in terms of male and female.

Now, some people (*coughcoughGraycoughcough*) will tell you that all "friendship" between men and women is biological; that there is always some form of sexual tension between those friends. They point to examples of a woman's best friend proposing, or similarly "heartwarming" or "disturbing" examples of when one member of a platonic friendship wants more than mere friendship.

I think that some of these stereotypes are largely due to the romantic comedy genre. Think about it. How many rom-coms start with the premise that Woman X's best friend is a man, and that either the woman or the man is very interested in the other. Or a chance meeting between two people turns them into friends, and eventually, lovers. This premise coming from popular culture is pretty disturbing if you ask me. After all, if it is correct, I am either interested in all of my adoptive brothers at some sub-concious level, or they're interested in me. And I'm firmly in denial of that. You may call me Cleopatra, but I don't think that's an accurate characterization with this issue.

See, I think it is possible to have purely platonic relationships with my guy friends. Maybe it's because the little girl inside me still believes that guys have cooties and any romantic relationship with them will transfer those cooties on to me. I mean, holding hands with someone? Ewwwwww. That's disgusting.

But I don't think that's it at all. When we narrow the potential for friendship between gents and gals to merely sexual attraction, we narrow the possibility of beauty in the world.I'm going to go to a fictional example here. Yes, yes, I know I get far too caught up in my imaginary worlds. But they're so good for snarky examples on my blog. 

Ahem.

In the Lord of the Rings, there's an awful lot of romance. It's true. Faramir loves Eowyn loves Aragorn loves Arwen, and all the jazz, doncha know. Sam loves food, Pip loves Entwash.. It's all over the place. But one of my favorite relationships in the entire series is the friendship between Merry and Eowyn. The way they both go out to fight in Pelinor Fields after the king tells both of them they cannot. Mmm. Good stuff. 

But if we accept the thesis that there is no such thing as "just friends," suddenly, we see Eowyn paying attention to Merry because of some suppressed desire of hers stemming from the fact that she was orphaned as a child. And Merry pays attention to her because, as a Hobbit, he feels incapable of truly being manly unless he can associate himself with a pretty awesome sword-lady from Rohan.

And friends? That's just disgusting. No, seriously. How much more can you ruin a friendship than going all Fruedian on someone and telling them that "he's really into you" in one of those all-knowing tones of voice.

I cannot even begin to number the times one of my girlfriends, or my mother, or another well-meaning woman in my life has confidingly told me that whatever one of my friendboys I have been spending time with is secretly interested in me and just doesn't have the courage to say so.

Alright, they have a point. Homeschooled guys are notorious for not taking definite stands on the issue of women. And romance. And romancing women. 

But that is still entirely beside the point. You can ruin a friendship that way. I'll tell you, after I explain something to my male readers.

It is a certain fact that somewhere, in her deepest heart, your gal friends have thought "what if" about you. She has, hypothetically, wondered if the two of you would "work out." She's probably had a good laugh about the results. This doesn't mean that she's deeply attracted to you, or secretly in love with you, or an outrageous flirt. It doesn't even mean she's ready for a relationship with anyone. She probably doesn't even want to admit it to herself that she's asked. 

But the fact remains. At one point, she's had the small, quiet thought. "What if he liked me. What if he does like me? And what if I liked him?" It doesn't force her soul into a raging conflict. If anything, it probably embarrasses her slightly that she's even thought about it. So, please, don't ask her about it. You'll only embarrass her more. 

But the thing is, when someone outside of her deepest heart tells her "he's so in to you," more seeds are sown. Suddenly, instead of just pushing aside the small question, we start focusing on it. Every action is viewed through an entirely different lens than before. It's no longer "just friends"; it's "just friends, if you know what I mean **winkwink**." 

And that ruins a friendship. Outside pressure from outside the relationship to do anything - dump the friend, spend more time with the friend, observe the friend closely to see if he's actually interested in you - always changes the dynamic into a different beast. 

"Treat younger men as brothers, older women as mothers, and younger women as sisters, with absolute purity." 1 Timothy 5:2 

If there's no such thing as just friends, then friends, we really are in a whole heap of trouble.

I'd like to leave you with a thought about "doing your Christian duty" and pointing out potential trouble spots. Unless you are 100% certain that your galfriend is getting herself into trouble by becoming friends with a guy who clearly wants more:

"Don't talk to it, Merry. Don't encourage it."
 

Just a tidbit

2011-09-29T08:15:00.000-07:00

If you are a fellow blogspot blogger, you have no doubt already discovered the wonders of Blogger Stats. For those of you not in the know, Stats provides a handy look at how many people arrive at my blog, what internet browsers they use, if it's a computer or a smart phone, what posts they look at, things like that.

Now, I was browsing through my Stats this morning, as I normally do after I post, and came to an interesting realization. But first, let me give you the facts.

In April, I had 777 views.
In May, there were 775.
June: 1,124 views.
July: 597
August: 419
September: 494 (and counting)

There was an upward trend through April, May, and June, even though I only made one new post in May. My conclusions? I haven't come to any yet. But I'll let you know if I do. ;)

2011-09-28T08:18:00.001-07:00

I write poetry. And I don't really like sharing it with people, mostly because I'm kind of afraid that they'll laugh at what goes through my head. But I decided that if I can face my fear of heights, I can face my fear of literary criticism. So I think that for today's post, you're getting a poem I wrote last night, after my friends Shorty and Calvin stopped by. So here you go.

I saw some old friends,
                last night.
They were kind enough to
                drop by.

And we stood
                awkwardly
in my hall
                 and talked
like things hadn't changed.

But they had.

And as we laughed
                  too loudly
I happened to look
                   at the patio
Where I saw spectres,
                   more,
Waiting their turn
                     for a chance at life.

We laughed and talked
                    quietly
not wanting to invite
                    silence
into our midst.

"Groovy"
                        "Goshdarnit"

"Sweetie-lambkin"
   "Lost puppies!"

We talked and laughed
                   and I was happy
beyond words.

The thrill of life
The joy of company
the hope of laughter
                       Reborn.

Yes, I was happy.
                       It was good to be alive
last night when my old friends
                       dropped by.

2011-09-28T08:18:00.000-07:00

Some days, I'm a bard:
Wandering from town to town,
Telling my stories to peasants
gathered around red hearths,
Making friends and then
Leaving them behind.

Some days, I'm a princess:
Locked in a tower,
Gazing out on the land,
Filling my thoughts with
Mundane visions.

Some days, I dream dreams:
Of earth; and of heaven;
Of courage; of honor; of
Strength through it all.

Some days, I'm a queen:
Holding court in her palace,
Deigning to hear the
Pleas of her subjects.

Some days, I"m a selki:
Working obediently
For the one who
Denies me my skin.

Some days, I'm a spy
And a sneak and a cheat
And a thief, stealing away
With my hard-earned reward.

Some days, I'm a murderer,
slaying, brutally, my own
Hopes and dreams,
Aspirations and thoughts.

Some days, I'm all of these things.

But today, I am I.
I have no blood on my hands,
No stories to tell,
No dreams to dream.

Today, I exist.
And that is enough.

College Life

2011-09-24T12:12:00.000-07:00

It's interesting what an effect sleep can have on your day. For instance, yesterday I headed off to college with about 4 hours of sleep under my belt, and while my day became progressively better (for reasons I shall explain momentarily), it started out very bad indeed. Today, I slept for twelve hours and world looks so much more beautiful than it did yesterday.

So. I have just completed my first week of daily school in 7 years. Is it bad to say I'm already looking forward to Christmas break? Well, maybe, if you didn't know my schedule. This is kind of what it looks like.

6:00 am: Wake up
7:00 am: Be at bus stop
8:00 am: Arrive at college
8:30 am: First class starts
9:30 am : Tuesdays and Thursdays, second class starts. MWF, start waiting
11:20 am: T/Thu class ends
1:30 pm: Precalculus (yay! ... not really.)
2:45 pm: Be at bus stop
4:00 pm: arrive at home
4:30 pm: music lesson
7:00 pm: Youth Symphony rehearsal on Mondays, or private practice rest of the week
11:00 pm: bed time, but not until I've packed a lunch, taken a shower, and finished all my homework

Now, my readers who have attended public school for a while may be scoffing at me. Because, really, seven hours of sleep isn't too bad. Just wait until Problematic has to pull an allnighter to study for an exam.

I see your point. Really, I do. I understand that homeschooling has accustomed me to a life of luxury. Waking up at 8:00am. Going to school only once or twice a week. I know I've had it good, and it's kind of pathetic to be complaining.

The problem is, the schedule I just gave you is the one that I held to this week, not the one that I actually need to be scheduling. Somewhere in that mess of events, I need to get to to the gym, apply for private college, write essays for scholarship competitions, finding a job,and dare I mention ... my social life? I have seriously only had "meaningful" interactions with one person I knew from before I started college. I've talked a lot with two other people, but I had never met them before college. Not only that, but I had only even heard of one of them.

Yay for making new friends? I don't know. I miss my friends from my former life. I've been tempted to get back on the old speech and debate forums just to see how my friends are doing. Rubbish recently emailed me about collaborating on some music together, which was pretty nice of her. But besides getting together for coffee and chocolate cigars with the Professor and Cassandra a couple weeks ago, the only interactions I've had with my peers are what I see on my Facebook feed.

College isn't too bad. My music theory teacher is has an awesome pedigree: he started out as a metal head, became a beatnik when he ran out of metal, and then got interested in classical music when he ran out of jazz. Oh, and did I mention he's a Berklee grad with a primary instrument of bass? Yeah. He's a beast.

My political science teacher is, um, interesting. The jury is still out on that, so I'll get back to you. And Precalculus? My teacher is a knight, so ++ for that. He's one of those mathematicians who obviously love what they're doing but are completely incapable of passing that love onto others. The thing that makes that class a little more bearable is that I'm making friends with my neighbor.

Okay, seriously. What are the odds that the person I just randomly sat next to on the first day likes to spin vinyls for fun and a little profit? Seriously? It's interesting, but the whole format of "I see person X for one hour every week day" is kind of strange for making friends. I'll post more about the progress in upcoming weeks.

Really, the hardest part about college is the waiting. Who would think that waiting could be so tiring. I've got a limited number of options to fill the time. I can do homework, but that doesn't take four hours. I can practice piano and voice, but that still doesn't fill things. There's the computer lab, but it get boring staring at a computer screen in the middle of the day for hours. If I had my violin with me, I might have enough to do to fill four hours. However, there is no power on earth that could induce me to bring Ignatius to campus.

Why? Let's put it this way. Ignatius, himself, is now worth over $1,200. The case is worth about $500. My bow is worth another $500. My set of replacement strings is worth about $120, the shoulder pad, about $100, and the chin rest, $50. The entire package, all 2.5 cubic feet, is well over $2,000. And let's not forget that I had to pay for that over the course of several years. I would not bring Iggy to campus, to haul around on public transit, to potentially forget on the bus or in class or wherever I may spend my time in between.

But if you hear of a beater violin in my area, I'm more than interested.

So there you have it. The week in review. I am so thankful it is the weekend.

B

Grab Bag #4

2011-09-21T12:33:00.000-07:00

School started on Monday. I don't mean homeschool coops, like I've been going to for the past six years. No, I mean school. Everyday. Up at 6:15 every morning.

You see, folks, I am officially a college student. It's true. I am writing this in the computer lab at a local college near my house.

That's not actually why I am writing. See, it recently came to my attention that I had not posted on this blog since the end of July, and we are rapidly approaching the end of September.

So it seems I must apologize, friends, for the long and unexplained absence. I will try to explain it, but as I sit, I can barely remember eveything I've done in the interval.

Here's a highlight reel:
1. I had a waterfight to celebrate my birthday, but did not tell anyone its purpose.
2. I went on a short-term mission trip with YWAM to Gleanings for the Hungry
3. I was kidnapped for my birthday by Gray, Ophelia, and two new brothers who shall shortly receive Blog names.
4. My mom invited pretty much all the influential women in my life over to pray for me and share 'words of wisdom'. The funny thing is, if all the people present in that room agreed on a course of action they all wanted me to take, I'd have a very hard time resisting them for any amount of time.
5. I visited Wheaton College as a prospective student
6. Oh, and I started taking piano and voice lessons again.

Overall, life has been a pretty interesting combonation of very busy but very laid back. I'm looking forward to college because while I will be taking a lot of classes over the course of this year (to the tune of three math classes, two science classes, three music classes, a political science class), I only have to take three of them at a time.

Oh, and by the way, I'm 18 now.

Yes This Is A Cult

2011-09-19T09:53:00.000-07:00

A couple days ago, I was watching music videos on youtube. You might say that was a singularly unproductive use of my time. I might agree. But I will say, that is entirely beside the point.

So anyways. Music videos. There I was, watching this music video by one of Virgin Record's biggest bands. The song was decent. Nothing brilliant, but a solid song. A nice hook in the chorus -- "No! No! No! No!", but it wasn't crunchy enough to be memorable. When I went to look up the song again, I couldn't even remember what the hook was. But you get the picture. It was a typical rock song such as one might hear on the radio.

The video was what stood out to me. It starts with some of this band's fans talking about what music means to them, and then clips of the band's live performances around the world start to play. The cinematographer is very good. Whoever assembled the video included small captions on the clips, like you might see in scrapbook.

Little things like "This was an awesome day." But that wasn't what stood out to me. About halfway through the video is an image the main singer holding his hands out, silhouetted by bright stage lights. As the image fades, the words "Yes This is a Cult" appear, to be replaced the image of the singer.

That got me thinking. I've made the snarky comment about that being dangerous for me enough, so we'll skip directly to the thought.

Almost everywhere you look, major religions and civilizations use music as an offering of worship to their gods. It could be chanting; ringing of bells; beating of drums; modern evangelical Christian worship; rich harmonies -- what have you. Point is, music is almost universally acknowledged as one of the best ways to connect with the supernatural.

I would argue that it is one of the few natural realities that transcend mere physical reality. Music isn't merely noise: it's tonal patterns or rhythmic noises that somehow give humans pleasure. It's one of those sublime things, that, when done correctly, has the ability to elevate us from mere existence to something more beautiful. A click point, if you permit a return to old terminology.

For some reason, we view it as a worthy offering to God, the gods, fate, or whatever we happen to be worshiping at the time. And it's not surprising. Music can be sublime.

But watching the 30 Seconds to Mars video, I noticed something very interesting. The concert-goers were acting in much the same way as my church does when we really get into worship. Their hands were held in the air; they sang the words along with the band; they swayed in time to the music; and they responded to instructions from the band.

Yes This is A Cult.

If you're a long time reader of this blog, you've probably come to the realization that I am an artistic person. I don't say this to be self-satisfied or obnoxious. It's a reality of who God created me to be. I picked up an ocarina at the market a few weeks ago, and figured out how to play "My Heart Will Go On" by the end of the day. My parents gave me penny whistles for my birthday, and there's a similar story. But like I said, I'm not trying to say this to toot my own horn. Though I probably could after a couple tries. ;)

As a Christian, I know I have an artistic gifting to be used for God's glory. But it is a depressing realization to know that, were I not saved, I would still be very artistic. I am gifted, and so use that gifting in worship. But were I not a Christian, I would still be using the gift.

Yes This is a Cult

It all comes down to a question of motivations, really. Music is, by nature, very beautiful; very sublime. But music is NOT the end goal. And as a musician, I have to keep telling myself that. The people in the music video were not the concert as a way to glorify God; they were using it as a way to glorify Music.

"Some people believe in god: I believe in Music. You know, some people pray: I turn up the radio."

"Music makes the world go 'round, you know. And if it weren't for Music, I wouldn't be around right now. Music is EV- ERY - THING to me. That's all I can say."

Some fans said this in the end of the music video. I get where they are coming from. When I listen to good music, and I mean REALLY GOOD music, I tend to forget the mundane realities of every day life. I start to focus on the rhythms of the guitar, the nuances of the vocalist's inflections, the fills and frills of the drummer, the juggling of tracks in the mix. It calms and concentrates. Things, simple things like running on a treadmill, somehow seem more important if I've got some rock pounding in through my ear buds.

Motivation is what changes music from a sublime thing to the Ultimate thing. It's what changes it from a gift to a sin; from a pleasure to idolatry.

The musicians who go into the industry to "become famous" pretty obviously have their priorities messed up. But what about a little, simple enjoyment? Is it really so bad for us to just enjoy the momentum, to be caught up in three-minutes of pure bliss?

Maybe. I went to EMP (Experience Music Project) in Seattle for my birthday last week. I saw an exhibit filled with Jimi Hendrix collectibles - old guitars he'd smashed, stage outfits, the whole nine yards. One of the exhibit panels made the comment that the guitars Hendrix burned were often written with mantra-esque phrases, as a kind of spiritual offering to Music.

Yes This is a Cult

Well, obviously Hendrix was a little out there. But the musicians who just want to make Music, they're not so bad, right? The musicians who are in it because they just love to make Music... They're not treating it the wrong way, are they?

Obviously, you have to take this on an individual basis, but we have to realise that there is a very, very fine line between treating music as sublime and treating it as Ultimate.

Well, that may be well and good for all those silly people who listen to pop music. I mean, classical music was written Sola Deo Gloria, so we don't have to worry about idolatry.

WRONG. I fall into this assumption more often than I'd care to admit, but let's face it: the 1812 Overture can be just as inspiring as any rock standard. The musicians who devote their lives to rigorous training just to play classical music are in just as much danger of idolizing their music as the rock musicians who burn their guitars for Music.

Yes This is a Cult.

to my fellow travelers

2011-07-31T20:46:00.000-07:00

I don't really know what to say. You look great! What a great-looking bunch of people you all are. But there's such a gulf now between you and me. It wasn't an abrupt parting of ways, but more of a gradual drifting apart. Kind of like that sappy Celine Dion song - it's "Far across the distance and spaces between us."

I feel as if we're standing opposite sides of a wide abyss, too far to speak but close enough to wave. It's a bit like that Coldplay lyrics: "I feel like they're talking in a language I don't speak // and they're talking it to me." We're just standing here like mimes, making friendly signs across an impassable rift. It feels like we haven't really spoken in ages - ever since neglect started wearing away the rocks beneath our feet. And it's a down-right shame.

I can trace this drifting away to a very specific month. Your path shifted, and as you went in the new direction, my trail started changing, too. So when we came upon each other at this crossroads, we didn't know where the other had ventured. It's a little awkward, come to think about it. Like meeting your best friend from elementary school in the grocery store: we're not quite sure how we stand. Is this too chummy? Am I presuming a continued friendship? Am I being too formal?

And that's why I'm not quite sure what to say. Do you even want to continue where we left off? Things aren't going to be the same. Up to the divergence point, we had similar paths: homeschooling in highschool, maybe a little speech and debate, or a shared coop. But now, you've had experiences I can't share, and I've had ones I can't even begin to describe.

Maybe you've been reading this blog while our paths meandered away from each other. Maybe you think you've experienced everything with me as I went through it. I hope I'm not that easy to see through, but if you've been reading, you have a better chance at seeing this post.

I can't really describe where I'm at presently. In one way, my boundaries have lowered. But in another way, they are higher than they've ever been. In one way, I have more friends than I've ever had, but in another I've never been so alone. On the one hand, I've discovered myself in the position to lead, but on the other, I've never been so confused about where I'm going. While I speak more openly, my tongue also has dents from all the biting I've done. I'm more in shape but also more off-kilter. I share my ideas but not my thoughts. I learn from my mistakes and then blindly repeat them. I'm human. Aren't we all?

Here's the deal. I'd like to still be friends. But not if you continue to treat me as the person I was the last time we really talked. Just because I've been somewhere you haven't doesn't mean I want to tell you every single detail. And by the same token, I don't expect I'll ever understand every quest you've gone on during the parting of our ways.

I suppose we're both tired from our journeys, so why don't we just sit a spell and enjoy the companionship of old mates? We don't have to talk, but it'll be nice to have some company before heading off again.

B

A day of firsts

2011-06-30T19:49:00.000-07:00

As you might guess from the helpful and informative title of this post, today was a day of firsts for me. Shall I tell you about it in chronological order? I think I shall.

Today was the first day my family has spent in Washington DC since arriving here. The previous days we've been at the estates of now-deceased presidents (see previous posts for clarification), but today my family went into the DC, onto the Mall.

That brings me to the second first of today. Until today, I had never rode on a train before, but we took the Metro Subway into the city rather than driving. The Metro was interesting. In my immediate area, there was a young man with a kind face wearing a shirt with the Joker on it; a heavier-set, middle-aged woman with dyed hair applying makeup while her short hair stayed in gigantic curlers; a male nurse; and two young want-to-be fashionistas.

The next first was traveling on public transit without my parents. My family split up once we got into the city, with Mother of Mine leaving for the National Archives, Father of Mine traveling to an office on business, and Brother of Mine coming with me to the International Spy Museum. It was disorienting to walk through large, loud, underground tunnels full of people and moving trains. But also very fun.

That brings me to - I think the fourth first: First nontraditional museum. In the past, my family has gone to Natural History museums, art museums, history museums, and other similarly traditional museums. But today, Brother of Mine and I went to the Spy Museum, which is exactly what it sounds like. But rather than being a tourist trap with a couple of Cold War relics sitting around in a noisy room, it was full of information. Yes, I did get to crawl through a duct, and yes, they did assign me a spy alias at the beginning of my visit.

The museum left me, especially the later exhibits, with a greater understanding of just what goes into providing for a nation's security. The museum spoke with James Woolsey, the former director of the CIA, and many other extremely qualified sources about spycraft and information-gathering. It was a very sobering tour, and I would completely recommend it to anyone, provided they don't have a problem looking at pocket garrotes, lipstick pistols, ring revolvers, and a lot of sharp and pointy objects designed to wound or kill. A 5/5 in my book. Absolutely fascinating.

The next first was first time attending a music festival. Brother of Mine and I took the metro to the Smithsonian, and stepped out into their Folklife festival. If you're from the Northwest, you're probably thinking that this was a grunge fest full of aspiring musicians and crafty craftsman. Wrong.

The Smithsonian's Folklife Festival was focused on three themes; The country of Columbia; the second was the Peace Corps; and the last was Rhythm and Blues. Brother of Mine and I ended up in the Soulsville Pavilion, where we got an auditory treat.

We got to hear the Stax Music Academy perform, and let me tell you - they were incredible. Most of the problems associated with live performances were there, but even through the feedback and the mic giving out in the middle of a rendition of Superstitious, you could tell that these kids were GOOD!

So that was my day. It feels as if I've just had more experiences than possible in 12 hours, but I have. Hmm. Time is playing with my head again. Yet strangely, I don't mind.

B

Carbon-based sustenance

2011-06-29T19:45:00.000-07:00

The past few food-focused entries I've done recently have centered on the unusual and exotic meals I've eaten on vacation. But today, I'm going to tell you about a rather ordinary dinner.

After visiting Mount Vernon, my family and I were exhausted. We spent over six hours visiting George Washington's home, and while I had eaten a very large meal before entering the park, by the time we left my blood sugar levels had long since tanked.

Because I'm mildly hypoglycemic, low blood sugar is not a good thing. I get severe headaches, and thinking feels like wading through molasses. I have trouble concentrating on anything for long periods of time, and if I don 't eat soon, I have difficulties expressing myself coherently. It's a drag.

Anyways, we left Mount Vernon and ended up in historic downtown Alexandria, a cute little town outside DC that my dad compared to "the University District [of Seattle] on steriods." I would have to agree. After driving up and down the street waiting for Mom and Thursday to decide where we would eat, Dad used his right as Benevolent Dictator and decided we would eat at Murphy's Pub and Grill.

Murphy's, in case you couldn't guess, is an Irish pub/sports bar. Unlike a lot of pubs in the area I live, it wasn't kitschy and represented the best combination of Irish pub food and American sports bar. There were at least three different baseball games being shown on large screens around the tiny, 2nd floor combined bar-table area. The waitress had an Irish accent, and gave us a coupon advertising food deals if we came late on July 3rd dressed in our most patriotic garb. There was a tiny little stage with a pitcher full of ice ready for the musicians (cleverly called "the Havers") whenever they would show up.

And the food? The food was not gourmet, it was not delicate, and it was not vegetarian.

Now, if you know me in real life, you'll know that I'm a vegetarian in theory. I don't particularly enjoy the taste of meat, and I think that the meat industry today is unsustainable, cruel to animals, and doesn't really sell healthy food to average Americans. However, I try not to be one of those obnoxious vegetarians who won't eat something if there's a chance, however slim, that it touched something that touched meat. For instance, my friend served French Dip sandwiches at his birthday dinner, and didn't make much of vegetable side dishes. I ate the sandwiches because, as I've said, while I prefer vegetarianism, it's just that: a preference.

So when we went in Murphy's tonight, with my tanking blood sugar levels and a menu full of meat, the simplest, most logical, and most tasty option was to order meat. I thus found myself, a few minutes later, staring at a large plate of meat and potatoe pie with homemade fries. The pie is fairly self-explanatory, being the standard ground beef and sausage with peas, onions, and corn inside mashed potatoes with gravy. The fries, however, were unusual.

Take a whole potato. Slice it to form about 3/4 inch thick discs, and sautee them in a skillet. You now have the fries I ate with dinner.

Mmm. Today was good. And my blood sugar's returned to normal, thanks for asking!

B

Washington DC

2011-06-29T19:22:00.000-07:00

I'm here, my lovelies. I entered Maryland last night and am now about twenty minutes from the Capital. Mom got a great deal on a very nice hotel that we will be calling home for the next week.

To give you an idea of the hotel, I'll transcribe the label of something I found in the room: "A warm blend of sparkling bergamot and fresh ginger with clean musk notes of white tea, amid spicy nuances of vetiver and nutmeg."

What do you think this is? At best, some fancy tea - more likely, a bottle of wine. Actually, it's neither. The inscription is from the shampoo, conditioner, and body lotion provided by the hotel. O.o Yeah, tell me about it.

Well, yesterday I visited Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's country home. Frankly, I was disappointed with the Thomas Jefferson Historical Society's heavy-handed and agenda-driven depiction of this founding father. I understand that historians all have their pet theories and cherished idea as to who historical persons are, but the Society's view is ignoring well-documented relationships and influences with Thomas Jefferson to push their own perspective. It's bad history.

At Monticello, the tour guides and museum exhibits presented this view of Jefferson: He was a wealthy landowner who was, at heart, a freethinking atheist and humanist. While he owned slaves, he didn't want to, and in fact went against social conventions of the day to father four children with a slave he owned, Sally Hemming.

I don't contest that these facts are true or doubtless true - DNA evidence apparently links Hemming's children to someone in Jefferson's close family. However, the man they present to the general public is like a badly written character in a book - incredibly one-sided. Jefferson was all these things, but he was more. He was married to his wife for ten years, and loved her so much that when she died, he couldn't stand to be in the same country as they had lived together in. Which is how he ended up in France. The Society barely mentioned Mrs. Jefferson, instead focusing their efforts on his "sordid affair" with Sally Hemmings. There are contradictions within his character, but the Society focuses on the Jefferson they want to exist: the man who is the standard bearer for secular humanists around the world.

I didn't have these problems with Mount Vernon when I visited today. While Monticello is an amazingly beautiful house, it does not have the character that Mount Vernon does. Both are mansions rather than houses; both were designed by their owners. But while Monticello has expensive hardwoods, Mount Vernon has yellow pine painted to look like mahogany. While Monticello has portraits and busts covering the walls; Mount Vernon's decorative borders are painted to look three-dimensional.

In short, Monticello is like a library or an art piece that I admire from a distance, but Mount Vernon is a house I could see myself coming home to. The difference is like night and day.

Not just that, but the protectors of Mount Vernon portray George Washington more faithfully to his nature than the Jefferson Society. The Mount Vernon Ladies' Association has drawn from many, many outside sources to describe the services Washington gave to my country. Rather than relying on family rumor and gossip, they reference historians, his contemporaries, and relevant documents to support their claims to his personality.

I came away from Monticello with a slight distaste for Jefferson and the Society, but Mount Vernon left me a very high standard to live up to. Washington's thrift, compassion, and generousity; his cunning, courage, and humility; and his incredible faith were all documented. The Association admits he owned slaves and provide tours examining the lives these slaves led at Mount Vernon, but they look to his impact on the country.

And I left exhausted. Six-and-a-half hours after entering his estate, I still had not experienced everything George Washington's home preserved.

I will cover my culinary adventures of the day in my next post.

More Culinary Adventures in Charleston, South Carolina

2011-06-27T08:13:00.000-07:00

Well hello there, my lovelies! As the title of this post implies, I was in Charleston at some point yesterday. Hehe. It's like a big game of Where's Waldo? except this Waldo is wearing a striped skirt and is most definitely female.

But anyways. Charleston. My family took a guided tour around the city in one of those obnoxious tour buses full of culturally insensitive tourists. In this case, it was completely, totally, absolutely awesome. Our guide was a native Charlestonian who had served in Vietnam and came back missing a couple fingers and with the addition of some metal in his leg. He was absolutely passionate about the history of his town, and since my family was the only group on the bus, we got a much more personalized tour with lots of questions answered.

After our two-hour tour - which ended up running late because of all our questions - my family went to this local seafood resteraunt called Hyman's. When we got to our table, I noticed some little placards screwed onto the edges. They commemorated the famous, shiny people who had eaten at the table we were sitting at. These included Metallica and Barbra Streisand, among others. While eating, I had to battle with the conflicting urges to 1. burst into a full-throated rendition of "Hello, Dolly!" and 2. start muttering the bridge to "Enter Sandman" under my breath. Quite unusual.

But on to the real reason you're reading this post. You, obviously, want to know what strange new foods I had at the restaurant yesterday. There were a few, let me tell you.

First up were the hot boiled peanuts. I'd seen signs advertising these at gas stations all along the East Coast, and the sounded repulsive. So when the kind staff at Hyman's placed some in front of me, I just had to try them. They taste like peanuts, but their texture is ... grainy. Kind of like a combonation of a really mealy baked potatoe and water chestnuts. It's soft and kind of crunchy and really mealy all at the same time. They're fine, but I wouldn't go out of my way to eat them again.

Dad and I realized that there were fried green tomatoes and fried okra on the menu. Dad is legendary in our family for his extreme distaste for fried green tomatoes, so naturally, I wanted to try them. Now, something to know about Southern food is that when they say "fried" they actually mean "dipped in batter and fried in butter."

Fried green tomatoes are nothing more than big slices of green tomatoes - like the slices on a hamburger - which are then battered and fried. In my case, the fried coating was so buttery that I couldn't really taste the green tomatoes, but the texture was ... less than pleasant. First there was a crunch as you get through the fried exterior. Then comes a squish as the seeds of the slice slurp into your mouth. And then there's a mush as the cooked tomato "meat" enters your mouth. It feels kind of slimy going down. I can understand why Dad doesn't like them.

Fried okra is pretty good, though. Okra is spicy - kind of a mix of black pepper and cayenne. It's a seed pod, like zucchini, but it's hollow inside like a reed. When they fry okra, they slice it horizontally, batter, butter, and fry it. The spiciness of the okra comes through the fry nicely, without being too overpowering or overpowered. It's texture is like sauteed zucchini. I give it a plus, but because of the frying, I"m not sure I'd eat it again.

The next thing I tried were hushpuppies. They're basically like cornbread donuts. They're balls of cornmeal that's been - you guessed it - fried. The outside is lovely and crunchy, and the inside is piping hot and a little sweet. I would eat them again, but not many.

By the time I got through the boiled peanuts, fried green tomatoes and okra, and hushpuppies, I was starting to get a stomach ache from all the rich food. I don't understand why people call this style of food "comfort food", because it just makes me feel uncomfortably greasy and disgusting.

I was glad that I ordered seafood marinara instead of seafood alfredo. While the marinara doesn't disguise the fishiness of the fresh seafood as well as alfredo, it didn't contain butter, cream, and flour. The last food I tried was scallops. Because I had a stomach ache, I'm not sure if my distaste for these were from the texture, or just from orneriness.

Scallops. They're like big, cylinders of white muscles. Which are then cut into kind of thick circles and placed onto a perfectly good dish like they complete the dish. I couldn't taste anything, but it felt like I was biting into a tongue or something from the texture of the meat. I'll have to try them again today - I've got tons of leftovers - and see if sans stomach pain, they are any better.

I'm no longer in South Carolina, by the way. For all you stalkers out there, Problematic's current location is just outside the Technology Triangle in North Carolina. That is to say, I'm somewhere in the area of Durham, Raleigh, and Chapel Hill. The sun is shining through a level of clouds high up in the sky. We're doing laundry, and my pigtails are swaying gently in the air-conditioning. Life is good, folks.

Now let's have at that seafood.

B

Another Ramble

2011-06-25T15:48:00.000-07:00

Now that I have time to finally blog again, it seems I have an overwhelming desire to tell y'all about what I've been doing with this time. Besides sitting in front of a computer in a dark hotel room, I mean.

The past couple days have been pretty interesting. Not as relaxing as my time in Pass-A-Grille, but good, nonetheless. Two days ago, my family drove from Homestead, Florida to Key West and back. On our way, we stopped on Key Largo and went snorkeling. It was really fun, though there was this one barracuda that kept stalking me. Or at least, it felt like that. After snorkeling, we started off toward Key West again, but hunger made us stop at this little hole-in-the-wall restaurant that had been advertising its "World Famous Fish Sandwichs" for several miles. Well, I'd never heard of the sandwich before, but I should have.

It contained generous portions of lightly breaded dolphin fish with cheddar cheese, tartar sauce, and tomatoes on top of toasted whole wheat bread. Mmmm. Delicious.

So anyways, we get to Key West and go to Hemingway's Home. His house is gorgeous, but honestly, the main draw for me was all the cats running around. If you didn't know before, Hemingway owned two cats, of which at least one had a common genetic mutation giving it six toes instead of five. Well, in his will, Hemingway provided for the care of his cats, and generations later, there are lots of his cats descendants running loose on the property. They're quite tame, and generally enjoy being petted. But the greatest thing is that the majority of them also have six toes. It's pretty cool.

Yesterday my family went to the Everglades. We took a boat tour up into the backcountry in the mangrove swamps and along the way saw both the American Crocodile and aligators. That was neat, too. However, our time in the National Park was shortened both by the approaching thunderstorm and the numerous moskitoes determined to get at me despite the generous layer of DEET Mom had coated me with.

I've also fallen in love with the Anhinga , a fish-hunting bird native to the Everglades. It is absolutely beautiful, and I highly recommend looking up pictures of it online.

Today we visited St. Augustine, the oldest city in the US. It was established in 1595 by the Spanish in northern Florida, who promptly built Castillo de San Marcos. Coincidentally, this castillo is still standing, preserved as a National Monument. One really interesting thing is that the fort has been used by Spanish, English, and United States forces, including, at one time, Confederate soldiers. It has stood in one place since it was first built by the Spanish, and you can see where the shell-stone has worn away on the steps into the moat. The middle of the steps are almost even with the top of the step previous to it. You can almost taste the history in the air.

So tonight, my family is heading in toward Savannah, Georgia as we start our way to Washington DC. Oh, I think I forgot to tell you! I'm going to be spending July 4th in the Capital! Words cannot adequately describe how excited I am.

However, since the car is about to head into a gigantic lighting storm and gullywasher, I think I shall leave my comments on my tourism at that. Except to say that I'm marvellously tan.

B

Culinary Adventures update

2011-06-24T06:04:00.000-07:00

As of last night, I have also been introduced to the wonders of fried plantain and melon juice. On a related note, while I have never heard of Craig's World Famous Fresh Caught Made-To-Order Fish Sandwich, I feel like I should have. It was very good, and I ate Dolphinfish for the first time ever.

Culinary Adventures

2011-06-22T09:18:00.000-07:00

Aside from being incredibly relaxing, my time in Pass-A-Grille, Florida, has provided many opportunities for culinary adventures.

You see, I subscribe to the theory that if the food is a local speciality or delicacy (and isn't completely disgusting like fried spiders) then there is absolutely no excuse for not trying it.

We can see this when I was still in Hingham, Massachusetts last weekend. My chaperones (different from the ones in Manchester by the Sea) and I walked down into the the town to a speciality ice cream shop. I had the option of getting something boring but delicious - cappucino chip - or something entirely surprising like Mister Christian's Bounty or Hingham Harbor Sludge. I ended up going with the Harbor Sludge because Mister Christian's Bounty had too much chocolate on it for my tastes. But this amply demonstrates my philosophy.

Last night, my philosophy was put to the test. My dad's parents and one of his sister (plus her family) live in Tampa Since my family left for the Everglades today, the extended family got together to eat at Crabby Bill's, a local seafood restaurant. My uncle ordered Aligator Bites as an appetizer with a fiendish look in his eyes.

Now, I thought the name "Aligator Bites" was just some cute name for, say, popcorn chicken or another standard plebeian restaurant appetizer. Wrong. When the food got to the table, my uncle revealed that the deep-fried tidbits on the plate in front of me were, in fact, pieces of fried aligator tail.

In hindsight, I can say it's the only food that honestly tastes like chicken. Chewy chicken. Mmmm.

But that wasn't all. My dad, being a southern gentleman born and bred, was very excited when he saw Crabby Bill's also served frog legs. I did not realize Dad had ordered them until I happened to glance over in the midst of my scrumptious dinner - about which I shall inform you shortly - and saw him holding the battered and fried tail end of a frog. It was, in fact, a frog.

Dad extended the frog to me, but seeing the distaste on my face, instead took a piece off the legs and handed it to me. It was white, but looked kind of like fried chicken that's been peeled from the bone.

All I know is that frog legs taste like frog. They're kind of fresh-watery and fishy and taste slimy even though they're not actually covered in slime. Frog legs taste kind of like really fishy rainbow trout.

But enough about culinary adventures that others started for me. Last night, I chose to eat sugar cane.

I had shrimp skewered on sugar cane for dinner last night. They were covered in key lime honey mustard and red peppers, and served with savory rice. The sweet and savory and spicy and salty all combined into one beautiful explosion in my mouth. The sugarcane made the shrimp very sweet, which contrasted with the salty and savory rice, and the spicy mustard. I loved it!

I should probably stop talking about my dinner last night because I'm making myself hungry and the car shows no signs of stopping.

In other news, I got to try another icecream flavor today. It was called Captain's Butterscotch. It had vanilla and butterscotch icecream with Heath bars, caramel cups, peanut butter cups, chocolate chips, caramel swirls, toffee chips, and toffee chunks. Yum. Homemade icecream is the best.

B, who is headed off to the Everglades with her tan and her beach hair.

Time

2011-06-20T18:10:00.000-07:00

It was an odd feeling today on the beach. My dad and I sat on the sand doing absolutely nothing - not even reading a book. Every once in a while, I would stiffen with a jerk, thinking "I should get back to work. There's something I should be doing right now but I've forgotten. Think, Problematic! What are you forgetting?"

And that's when I'd remember. I have nothing to do, nothing to procrastinate, and nothing to feel guilty about. It was odd. The first time that happened, I was swimming in the Gulf of Mexico and suddenly thought that I was feeling so good, but had probably get back to work. The thought left me so stiff that when the giant wave I was waiting for finally reached me, I forgot to push off the bottom and got a face full of salt water.

So, as you might have guessed, I spent today at the beach. I didn't wake up until 11:45, when Dad and I went shopping for breakfast foods and a hat for him. After we got home, we walked across the street to the beach and sat. I collected sea shells and Dad sunbathed.

What do I intend to do with the shells? Well, I feel very ingenious. I'm going to figure out how to mail them back to my friends in the Northwest and write on the box: "I know you wish you were here! Haha!" Okay, I might not be that sadistic, but I will be mailing a little bit of this paradise to my friends.

I'm probably going to go to bed now. It's odd not having a plan for the day. I've spent the past year-and-a-half planning ahead and plugging along, and I'm suddenly free. I don't have to plan ahead. I only know of three things I'm doing tomorrow: going shopping with my Oma, swimming at the beach, and eating dinner with my Aunt. No school, nothing. It's CRAZY I'm telling you! I feel like Atlas would if the world were to be lifted from his shoulders. He's held his burden for so long, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. Neither do I.

It's crazy, but oh so beautiful. I'm just sitting here listening to Jason Mraz and blogging about absolutely nothing. I mean, I haven't had the time to blog for real in a really long time. Most of the posts in the past while have been automated, and the ones that haven't been pre-posted were written with time stolen from my schoolwork. If I wanted to, I could take three or four hours to craft a beautiful piece of prose and publish it here. Unfortunately for you, I'm just freewriting at this point. Sorry. The beautiful blog post will have to wait until I have something more meaningful to say.

But honestly, this feels just as good as a big stretch after sitting on a trans-American flight for 6 hours without break. Time. I'd forgotten how luxurious it is to have some to spare. Like today. After basting on the beach for a couple hours, Dad and I rode old schools town bikes down to the Pink Monstrosity - the only commercial hotel chain on the island we stay on. The bike ride was about an hour, and when we got back, I watched an Animal Planet show while Dad showered. We took as long as we wanted to, and now both of us are very pink.

Time. I'd forgotten what it was to have an excess of it.

72 Truths

2011-06-19T20:13:00.000-07:00

1. last beverage: Lemonade
2. last phone call: Dad
3. last text message: Milan
4. last song you listened to : Someday You Will Be Loved by Death Cab for Cutie
5. last time you cried : Round One of my Persuasive at Nationals
6. dated someone twice :Ignatius and I have been going steady for years now.
7. been cheated on: Iggy's far too loyal.
8. kissed someone & regretted it : One of my female relatives has a beard... ;P
9. lost someone special :Yes
10. been depressed: yes

LIST THREE FAVORITE COLORS:

11.Dark Chocolate Brown
12. Dark Slate Grey
13. Deep Burgundy

HAVE YOU EVER:
14. Made a new friend: Yup. Last year at debate camp. ;)
15. Laughed until you cried: Yeah. I wrote a thank you note to the family I stayed with at Nationals, and accidentally wrote "Dear Aunt Paul and Uncle Cindy." Yes, it was late. Yes, I was tired. Yes, it was silly.
16. Met someone who changed you: Indeed. It's up to you to guess who.
17. Found out who your true friends were: Yeah
18. Found out someone was talking about you: Unfortunately, yes

GENERAL:

19. Do you have any pets :Yeah. She's a black cat we call Buttercup, but everyone knows she's actually just a minature Puma called Bageera.
20. Do you want to change your name: Not really. Only to Sylvia St.James
21. What did you do for your last birthday: Played Calvinball and watched Leap Year
22. What time did you wake up today: Do you want Eastern Standard or Pacific Standard? It felt like it was 5:00, but it was actually 8:00
23. What were you doing at midnight last night : Talking with my hosts at Manchester by the Sea
24. Name something you CANNOT wait for: Florida. Oh wait. I'm here. Nevermind. How about the Decemberists concert in August?
25. Last time you saw your Mother : A week ago yesterday.
26. What is one thing you wish you could change about your life: I want more time and less homework.
27. What are you listening to right now: I Will Possess Your Heart by Death Cab for Cutie
28. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom?Yeah. My grandfather
29. Most visited webpage: my email
30. Nickname: Sabam, Beffy,
31. Relationship Status: Single and accounted for
32. Elementary : stuck up and smart
33. Middle School : [text redacted]
34. College : [text redacted]
35. Hair color: Dirty Blond
36. Long or short: Medium or really short.
37. Height : 5'5"
38. Do you have a crush on someone? Ignatius
39. What do you like about yourself? I dunno. I'm kind of ambivalent.
40. Piercing In my ear lobes, and I got it done in a tattoo parlor in Seattle
41. Tattoo: naah
42. Righty or lefty : Mostly right, but slightly ambidextrous

FIRSTS :

43. First surgery : No surgery as of yet. Though I might this summer to get my wisdom teeth removed.
44. First piercing : ears
45. First best friend: Alexis
46: First time spent together: In a music shop. The lights in our eyes reflected off the varnish of the violins.
47. First vacation: I can't really remember. The most memorable one, however, was camping in a rain forest and awaking inside a puddle that formed inside the tent. I was completely soaked and was wringing out clothes for a very long time.

RIGHT NOW:

48. Eating: nothing
49. Drinking:nothing
50. I'm about to: Go to bed
51. Listening to :Death Cab for Cutie
52. Waiting for: Godot

YOUR FUTURE :

53. Want kids? Kids are alright.
54. Get Married? Meh.
55. Career? Recording engineer/tonmeister/acoustician

WHICH IS BETTER :

56. Lips or eyes : Eyes because there is so much complexity in them
57. Hugs or kisses : Hugs, even though they're almost more intimate than kisses. They display such trust.
58. Shorter or talle: Taller, as long as they don't rub it in.
59. Older or Younger: Older
60. Romantic or spontaneous: Both. Spontaneous for romantic things
61. Sensitive or loud: Sensitive. Sorry, obnoxious debater guys.
62. Trouble maker or hesitant: It depends on the degree. Really hesitant is just awkward, but so is very trouble-inclined.

HAVE YOU EVER :

63. Kissed a stranger: No, but I came frighteningly close to tackle-hugging one because she looked so much like my friend.
64. Lost glasses/contacts: lost glasses and broken them
65. Kissed on first date: I haven't gone on a date. So no.
66. Had your heart broken: Wouldn't you just want to know?
67. Been arrested: By the gravity police. My feet weren't firmly planted on the ground. I spent time in the penitentiary of Asphalt.
68. Turned someone down: Yup.
69. Cried when someone died: When I realize that they're dead, yes. But not always. Sometimes I'm just sad.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

70. Yourself: Hardly.
71. Miracles: Of course. It's a miracle I'm still alive since I'm so accident-prone
72. Love at first sight: Yes, and his name is Ignatius.

Well-Earned Peace

2011-06-19T19:31:00.000-07:00

Wow. I just want to say it's perfect here. I arrived at a little, Old-Florida style hotel about an hour ago (9 pm Eastern), and don't want to leave for a very long time. You get to our room by walking behind the two-story house, past rows of bicycles waiting for the morning, over an uneven deck made of untreated wood, and up some rickety stairs with a view of the courtyard. It's all in black and white, and as I write, the air conditioning goes to work to remove some of the 92 degrees of heat that still linger in the evening air. It smells like suntan lotion, and we have yet to spend time on the beach.

It's startling to realize that I am officially an alumni of speech and debate. I finished my career by going to two national championships, where it may be noted that I exceeded my own expectations. But now, it's over. Nine whole tournaments of fun, a few more friends, a couple more marbles lost, and my speech and debate career is over. Done. Caput. I've barely been done for a day, and I already feel out of the loop.

My spring is going to be incredibly empty next year. Most of my friends will continue to compete and fill their school years with tournaments, suits, and lots of traveling. But me? I don't know what I'm doing. Probably applying to colleges and doing lots of musical recitals.

I've been asked by a couple people to hang around a bit, maybe help some debaters or coach some speech. I can honestly say I don't know how to feel about this. On the one hand, they're my friends and I could help them out, considering that I know the hard way to get to Nationals. On the other hand, I've just used up 5 years of my life doing competitive speech and debate, and I don't need to stick around. There are enough alumni with no life outside of speech and debate, there doesn't need to be one more.

But I'm pushing that off to the side. You see, folks, I'm here in Florida. I haven't had a life, or a real vacation, in years, and I'm determined to exploit my time on the East Coast to the fullest advantage. My mom has promised me a few days of just hanging by the beach, and I intend to hold her to her word. And when we're done in St. Petersburg, we're going first to the Everglades and then to Key West. And after Florida, my family is roadtripping up the East Coast to Washington DC. What this means is that I'm not returning to the Pacific Northwest until July 9th. I'm super excited.

Speaking of which, I'm also super excited to tell my alternative to ballot parties. For those of you not in the know, a ballot party is where all us geeky speech and debaters overwhelm a Denny's or similarly cheap restaurant very late at night and read the pieces of paper over which countless judges have written judgemental, uplifting, or frustrating comments about our speeches and debates. It's pretty masochistic if you stop to think about it. But anyways, I've never really enjoyed ballot parties because I don't like reading ballots unless I really have to. So last night, while I was still in Massachusetts, my chaperones and I drove to the Singing Sands of Manchester by the Sea and frolicked in the waves in full professional attire. It was much more uplifiting and edifying than reading the judgements of strangers.

So anyways, I'm excited to be here. I'm excited to wear my swimsuit instead of my business suit, and I'm excited to rush to the beach instead of to rounds. I'm excited that the only deadline I have is the end of my trip, and while I'm not so excited at leaving my friends behind for a month, I am excited to see them again when I return. I plan on being so tan that I hurt their weak eyes amphibious from all the rain in the Northwest.

So until next time, my dear readers! I'm off to bed where I don't have to set an alarm to get up tomorrow.

B

Shutdown Initiated

2011-06-08T21:54:00.000-07:00

If anyone ends up reading this, I'll be surprised. Why? Because I haven't posted in almost a month now. Sad, right?

Well, I'm currently in between national tournaments. I went to NITOC last week, and will be attending NCFCA Nationals next week. I leave on Saturday. This is just a quick reminder that I'm still alive and hope to post sometime after Nationals.

Keep Calm.
B

Aspiration

2011-05-03T22:51:00.000-07:00

Aspiration; noun. strong desire, longing, or aim; ambition.
Synonyms: yearning, craving

Are you competitive? I don't mean in the half-hearted, I-kind-of-like-winning way; I mean competitive in the way that drives you in a never-ending race for excellence. Competitive in the way that anything less than your absolute best is unacceptable. Well, are you?

I'm not. Or at least, I didn't used to be. That sort of aspiration to be the best didn't really show up in my speech and debate until I started listening to this song by Muse earlier this year. It was a bit of a wake up call.

Come on, Problematic. This is your last year in the league. Make it count. Make it worthwhile. Make it memorable.

Now, apart from the utterly laughable last statement - memorable? Really? Like someone would remember you in a high-school, home-school speech league of all things? - this all suddenly hit home. I don't quite have the words to describe it, but suddenly, I had a craving for excellence. And suddenly, nothing less than "The Best" would do for me.

There's something funny about cravings. See, you can satisfy them over, and over, and over, but it's never enough. It doesn't matter if the craving is for chocolate, epic soundtracks, winning - choose your poison - the cravings are never completely satisfied. And the worst thing is, sometimes the thing you crave disappoints you.

I had another craving earlier this year. I was craving certain friends, with an intensity that is almost frightening in retrospect. It was an aspiration, of the most dangerous type.

You see, my friends, I have a confession to make. I had centered my life and my self-image around these friends. What is more, I wasted six months of my life standing in the metaphorical train-station, hoping that each new train would bring that which I most desired. I threw away six months, six months of my 17th year waiting for Godot. And the thing about Godot is, he never shows up.

Perhaps I should explain why I craved these friends. When I was younger, I had even more severe problems trusting people than I do now. Then, one day, I accidentally opened up. It was sublime. It was like water in a desert, and it was no mirage. Finally, I had someone to tell when another person hurt me. Finally, there was another corporeal person who would make sympathetic noises as I spilled my guts. It was addictive, and I couldn't get enough of it.

I had perverted something that God has given us - good friends - and turned it into my idol. My aspiration was to be with my friends. I centered myself on our time together, rather than drawing enjoyment from it like one draws enjoyment from the opening-band before the big show.

But then they left, and I had a decision. I made the wrong choice. My "idols" left, and I foolishly waited for them. Don't imagine this is easy to say - I've barely wanted to admit it to myself. As I was finally getting over that aspiration, that craving, a second disaster struck.

People are fallible, even my friends. Perhaps I should say, especially my friends. What happened next is something too painful to recount, but we can say that it left me deeply shaken to the core.

I had put my aspirations in the wrong thing, twice. And both times, they let me down. Aspirations are tricky business. If you settle your aspiration on the wrong thing, you're headed for disaster.

"As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God" Psalm 42

Ultimately, the only safe person to entrust with your strong desire, longing, aim, craving, or yearning is God. Because unlike us mortals, He will never leave us nor forsake us. And if that's not a comforting thought, I don't know what is.

B

Regionals

2011-04-20T22:25:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Life has been very busy. Two weeks ago, I competed at the last "qualifying" tournament of the year. It was actually a STOA tournament, but it was the last low-level competition I attended. It was very fun, but even more fun was the Region X Invitational Tournament last week.

To make a long story short, I won my form of debate and the top speaker of that debate form, in addition to extemporaneous. My impromptu, persuasive, extemp, and debate have all qualified to NCFCA's Nationals, held in Boston this year. I've been chasing this goal for five years, and this one year, God blesses me so that all my events bar one reach this level. It seems unreal - it's overwhelming.

You know what's also overwhelming? School. I have gone from swimming in the stuff to drowning. AP tests to study for, essays to write, research papers to start and complete, books to be read and analyzed, college entrance SATs and the COMPASS tests for community college entrance, math homework weeks old, speech and debate to prepare for Nationals, and at some point I should probably start practicing violin again - considering I've only touched my instrument once in the past two weeks, since I've been out of town the rest of the time.

I'm having a marathon school-year. I've been looking forward to summer to relax and just chill, but even that seems to be filling up. Speech camp, possibly debate camp, mission trip to California, two nationals, and oh, let's see, the possibility of some sort of history convention. My driver's license. It's a lot. I'm starting to wonder when this is going to end. I can't see the end in sight, because next fall, I enter community college.

So, dear readers, if these posts start making less and less sense, you'll know exactly what's happening. My back-up marbles haven't shown up in the mail yet, and the current ones are currently fighting a losing war of attrition.

B

Wake Up

2011-04-11T22:52:00.000-07:00

It's Arcade Fire. 'Nuff Said. Wake Up, by Arcade Fire. I especially like the anthem-like introduction.

Somethin’ filled up
my heart with nothin’,
someone told me not to cry.

But now that I’m older,
my heart’s colder,
and I can see that it’s a lie.

Children wake up,
hold your mistake up,
before they turn the summer into dust.

If the children don’t grow up,
our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
We’re just a million little god’s causin rain storms turnin’ every good thing to rust.

I guess we’ll just have to adjust.

With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’ to be
when the reaper he reaches and touches my hand.

With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’
With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am go-goin’

You better look out below!

Ragdoll Physics

2011-04-04T22:21:00.000-07:00

Well, this song is bipolar/interesting. Most probably, it's both at the same time. Ragdoll Physics, by the Diablo Swing Orchestra, is an interesting combination of old-time jazz and Wagner-style opera. I like it immensely. The lyrics are good, and if you haven't figured this out by now, I enjoy symphonic metal.

Pure As The Unborn Son, Pure As The Maid Should Be Ceased To Breathe Again
Never Look Away From Those With Nothing To Spare
But I Do And I Don't Want To Care Anymore
If I Close My Eyes Would It Spare Me The Sight?
Of Decay, Corruption, How We Nurture Destruction
And Everything That Will Doom Us All.
Chaos May Be Thy Name, You Left Us For Anything
Trust Never Been So Misplaced As In Your Arms That Day
Those That You Gave Away To Those Who Could Ease Your Mind
We Were Nothing But A Waste Of Your Time And Space
But I Do And I Don't Want To Care Anymore
If I Close My Eyes Would It Spare Me The Sight?
Of Decay, Corruption, How We Nurture Destruction
And Everything That Will Doom Us All.

Transient Beauty

2011-04-03T22:55:00.000-07:00

My church has been preaching through Genesis and the Fall of Man. It's been interesting, but what has really stuck out to me is the idea that Creation fell with mankind. The physical world, abstract concepts like Justice, reason, and peace - they all fell with the original sin. But more importantly, beauty fell with man.

This is what I mean: currently, we find beauty in imperfection.

A contorted pepper.

An asymmetrical spider web.

Imperfect snowflakes.

Flowers that are almost symmetrical, but not quite.

The beauty we're observing is one of imperfection. Our sense of beauty fell when Adam first sinned. Now, the Bible says God will restore Creation when Jesus returns, which means everything will be made new, including our human understanding of beauty. The only thing we know about this "new beauty" is that it will be perfect as God is perfect. But besides that, it completely escapes my comprehending.

Just think about it. There are moments - split seconds, really - where the beauty is so strong it kills you. It aches in the most painful way possible. When time slows down for one, exquisite experience that leaves you wondering what could possibly beat it for beauty, grace, or ... perfection, really. Maybe I'm just crazy, and none of you have experienced those "click points", but I sincerely hope you have. They're wonderful.

Anyways, these click points are what I consider the height of beauty. And yet, our sense of beauty is flawed. God will make beauty perfect like Himself. So if the click point is just the illegitimate, ugly, and flawed version of what God originally intended, just think about what Heaven will be like.

Doesn't that thought just give you the shivers? Our click points aren't nearly as beautiful as what will be in Heaven, because they will be made perfect. I have to stop typing now. I'm shivering too much. Just the idea of perfect beauty. Wow.

B

Grab Bag #4

2011-04-03T21:18:00.000-07:00

Well, my life is getting chaotic again. Next week, there's another tournament, and immediately following it, the Regional Invitational. Now, the week following Regionals (that's three weeks from now, if you're following) I have a couple big research papers, a few essays, and an oral report due, not to mention the AP tests I ought to prepare for. Busy, neh? But before jumping back into the madness, I'm going to give you a reel of the high and low lights since the beginning of January. Why? Because I feel like it.

In January, I flew to California for a tournament and a college visit. The TSA took my cookies, and discriminated against me because I chose to wear a skirt on the airplane. At the tournament, my persuasive took second place, a feat that I've yet to repeat.

Also in January, two weeks later, I drove from my home in Western Washington to a tournament in Medford, Oregon. This was my first extended exposure to Shrimpy and Shorty. I've got to say, the car ride was the real highlight of the trip. That, and the really messed up cake we made for Calvin's birthday.

Two weeks later, another tournament in Idaho. Once again, I carpooled with Shorty, and we gave Rubbish a ride over to Idaho, but not back. Yes, Rubbish is a new character in this saga. She's named for one of her favorite adjectives. Ahem. Idaho's tournament was an emotional rollercoaster, but surprisingly, I had the most fun at that tournament than any other so far. It was groovy, and I watched Despicable Me for the second time in 4 weeks.

Two weeks after that, yet another tournament - but this was less groovy. I competed as a Team Policy debater, and my partner and I qualified to Regionals, which was unexpected. However, I had stomach flu for the entire tournament, and ended up losing a lot of weight from a. my inability to keep food down, and b. running around a lot. My impromptu speeches went over well with the judges in finals, and I finished 3rd. Despite this comparative success, throwing up all night and competing all day did not make the tournament one of my fonder memories. It got so bad that I almost didn't show up on the second day. Also at this tournament, I spent more time with Shorty. Yeah, I'm really adding up the hours.

After the stomach flu tournament, I had a month to "get ahead" in homework. I'll spare you the details. The next tournament was toward the end of March, and it was ... frustrating. Friends of mine with champion speeches didn't break, showed poorly, or lost their titles to unexpected contenders. There is some personal disappointment, I admit. But frankly, some of the results were entirely unjustified. I'm not saying that the people who won didn't deserve, because the strange results didn't extend through all events. However, some of the results were extremely frustrating.

The tournament was held at a university in Seattle, so Shorty stayed at my house. At the time of my writing this, Shorty and I have spent a cumulative total of 135 hours with each other, using the most conservative estimates. We had some very interesting conversations at early 'o clock, before falling asleep. Actually, Shorty and Gabby's visit during the tournament was the highly of the weekend.

Unless, of course, you mention Gertrude and Alfonso. Wrath, Calvin's little brother, was in a bad mood on that Friday night - and I was entering the state my parents call "rummy." It ended up with Wrath and I waddling across the college campus like a pair of senile penguins, muttering to each other and occasionally yelling "quack!" It was quite fun, and I'm afraid we've permanently scarred some of our friends.

At this point, you've been brought up to speed through the present. You may be wondering how I have time to write all this if I'm so busy preparing for the next weeks. I have two answers: First, I don't have time. Second, I'm writing this in the car on my way from church. So there.

I've been doing a bit of thinking about things over the past three months. I'll try to get some time to type the thoughts up into scintillating blog posts, but your best bet for intelligent thoughts will be in a couple weeks after Regionals. Thoughts that should be coming soon includ: beauty, vulnerability, aspiration, passion, defiance, and surrender.

Now, aren't you curious?
B

"So Hawt"

2011-03-28T22:53:00.000-07:00

After reading this post, you'll probably roll your eyes and grin at the sudden "new" "discovery" I made the other day. But I haven't revealed it yet, so you may as well enjoy this in good humor. As another caveat, please don't think I'm boy-crazy after reading this post. It's just when inspiration hits, you can hardly say no.

I have a facebook, you know. I have a friend who had her picture taken with the lead guitarist of some grunge band I've never heard of. The caption on the picture was something to the effect of "so hawt!" When I looked at the picture, I did a double take. Then I did another. While my friend is quite beautiful, the man she was posing with was not someone I would look at and think "Wow, he's so attractive." The same goes for pretty much every band I've ever run across.

Take Muse, for instance. The lead singer, Matt Bellamy, is scrawny. He has a big nose, and his eyes seem to disappear under his brow line. In no way "attractive," "beautiful," or even "hawt." At least, not in pictures. You see, I finally looked up a music video of Muse. Before starting it, I read some comments to the effect of "I am extremely attracted to Matt Bellamy and want to marry him."

Yes, I edited that. I don't enjoy the crudity and unoriginality of Youtube comments. But that's beside the point.

Before watching the video, I'd only seen a picture of Muse and found them decidedly unattractive, despite their incredible music.But then I watched the music video. I was captivated. This man, who has no conventional beauty, was transformed into a fascinating, larger-than-life creature with the most hypnotic presence I've ever encountered. It was achingly beautiful. The comments suddenly made sense.

I'm not saying I'm attracted to Muse. But I think I'm on to something. Because after this realization, I started noticing the guys I'm around a lot, especially the ones girls tend to congregate around. None of them are what Western culture generally considers classically handsome.

Some of them are shorter or lighter-weight than I am ( which is saying something, since I'm 5'5" and 130 lbs). Some of them have facial hair, which isn't fashionable. Some have horrible attitudes. Now, putting aside the cliche of "all girls like bad boys" (which, for my male audience, is a lie. If you want explanation, shoot me an email), the one thing these popular male friends of mine have in common is their charisma.

All of these guys, be it Muse or Escapist or DinosaurMan or Thursday or SirSarcasm or Calvin (or you get the idea), have captivating personalities. When they walk into the room, there's a distinct air of possession that comes with them. The persona is almost overwhelming if you stop to think about it. It's not necessarily arrogant, or cocky, or even annoying. But the person is completely *there*.

That's my "new" "idea." Attraction has next to nothing to do with looks. I know that personally, the guys that I've been attracted to in the past are, quite frankly, ugly. But their personalities completely overshadow the lack of beauty. This is not to say that I am secretly attracted to the guys I listed in the previous paragraph - because I'm not - but they have this charisma in common. It's interesting, and frankly a little weird.

I took so long writing this post that I forgot where I was going with it. In all likelihood, it was going to be something moralicious about having an attractive personality and possessing inner beauty, but I got interested in other things. Point is, I have finished another people-watching project. And this was the result. Hopefully you're not too creeped out about me. :)

B

Butterflies and Hurricanes

2011-03-28T11:55:00.000-07:00

Well, this past weekend was the last NCFCA qualifying tournament. I've got to say, it was a strange mixture of really good, and really bad. The last day, Saturday, was particularly frustrating, and I listened to Butterflies and Hurricanes, by Muse, all day.

Enjoy.

Change everything you are
And everything you were
Your number has been called

Fights and battles have begun
Revenge will surely come
Your hard times are ahead

Best, you've got to be the best
You've got to change the world
And use this chance to be heard
Your time is now

Change everything you are
And everything you were
Your number has been called

Fights and battles have begun
Revenge will surely come
Your hard times are ahead

Best, you've got to be the best
You've got to change the world
And use this chance to be heard
Your time is now

Dont let yourself down
And dont let yourself go
Your last chance has arrived

Best, you've got to be the best
You've got to change the world
And use this chance to be heard
Your time is now

Apres Moi

2011-03-21T22:18:00.000-07:00

I like Regina Spektor. She's interesting. You never quite know what she's talking about, but she's a talented songwriter and arranger. Enjoy Apres Moi, by Regina Spektor. And go look up the translation of the Russian in the middle of the song.

I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I must go on standing
I'm not my own, it's not my choice

Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood
Après moi, le deluge, after me comes the flood

I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I must go on standing
I'm not my own, it's not my choice

Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood
Après moi le deluge, after me comes the flood

Fevrale dostat chernil i plakat
Pisat O Fevrale navsnryd
Poka grohochushaya slyakot
Vesnoyu charnoyu gorit

Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood
Après moi le deluge, after me comes the flood

I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I must go on standing
I'm not my own, It's not my choice

I must go on stan-stan-ding-ding
You can't, can't break that, that
Which isn't, isn't yours, yours
I'm not, not my own, own
It's not, not my choice, choice

A St. Patrick's Day Blessing

2011-03-17T19:32:00.000-07:00

May the blessing of the rain be on you—
the soft sweet rain.
May it fall upon your spirit
so that all the little flowers may spring up,
and shed their sweetness on the air.
May the blessing of the great rains be on you,
may they beat upon your spirit
and wash it fair and clean,
and leave there many a shining pool
where the blue of heaven shines,
and sometimes a star.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, to all my Irish, Irish-American, or simply Irish-at-heart readers!
B

Long Time Traveller

2011-03-14T15:26:00.000-07:00

This song popped up on my Celtic Pandora station the other day. It's beautiful in its simplicity - three radiant voices in harmony. Enjoy Long Time Traveller, by the Wailin' Jennys.

Long Time Traveller:

These fleeting charms of earth
Farewell, your springs of joy are dry
My soul now seeks another home
A brighter world on high

I'm a long time travelling here below
I'm a long time travelling away from home
I'm a long time travelling here below
To lay this body down

Farewell kind friends whose tender care
Has long engaged my love
Your fond embrace I now exchange
For better friends above

I'm a long time travelling here below
I'm a long time travelling away from home
I'm a long time travelling here below
To lay this body down...

Problematic's Rules of Living part 3

2011-03-14T15:10:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time coming, but I'd like to present you the third installment of my Rules of Living. You can find the first installment here, and the second part here.

Rule 36: Be not ashamed of tripping over flat surfaces.
Corollary to Rule 36: Be ye less ashamed of tripping over stairs.
Rule 35: Never argue with the driver.
Rule 34: The rain is made for dancing in.
Rule 33: Everyone deserves to be heard.
Rule 32: Pain is merely an electro-chemical impulse.
Corollary to Rule 32: Pain is a figment of the imagination.
Rule 31: Even a nobody is somebody to someone.
Corollary to Rule 31: Be somebody to many.
Rule 30: Know your enemy as yourself.
Rule 29: True friends stab from the front
Rule 28: Seek first to understand before you are understood
Rule 27: Faithful are the wounds of a friend.
Rule 26: The Truth stands up to questioning.
Corollary to Rule 26: Question everything.

2011-03-12T16:26:00.000-08:00

I got a comment from DFA on my last post, "Myself." It is a long comment. And as such, it deserves a response all to itself. :) Well, maybe I'm making up that bit about deserving recognition. But in all candidness, if you post a long and well thought-out comment, I'll take the time to respond to it in depth. So let's get started, shall we?

At least you can take your own criticism. I think that would bother me more than other people's criticism.

It does bother me more than other people's criticism. When other people criticize me, I only have to sit through whatever they have to say. When I criticize me, I have to live with it. It's all in my head, and ideas are the most insidious things to stamp out. Like Inception, you know?

Why do you suppose you feel a compulsion to know who you are?

I look at my friends, and they seem so sure in who they are. Granted, they're probably just as confused on the subject as me, but they seem so self-assured. I don't have that sort of confidence. I've taken all the personality tests - there's even one displayed on the sidebar of this blog - but just because I know the "what" doesn't mean I have the foggiest clue as to the "why." And I hate uncertainty. So I guess my compulsion comes from a desire to be certain about what would seem the simplest fact of life: who I am.

Or is it because you have hypothesized who others are and are observing them to determine, if they are indeed as hypothetically determined? Is this a hypothesis or empirical data?
Well, I have hypotheses about all my friends. While sitting in the corner, I watch people. And in the course of that watching, I start to form ideas about them. I try to figure out why they're doing things which don't make sense to me. The thing is, it's all kind of subconscious. I don't start out by thinking "I'm going to figure out what makes X tick." I don't even have conscious theories, until I try to explain them to people. Then, suddenly, everything I've observed coalesces into a hypothesis - which wasn't there until someone asks me to explain "X."

What are these "social graces" you speak of?
The set of skills necessary to generally get along with people. Commonly known as being friendly with strangers. I'm an introvert. Now, that doesn't justify my extreme awkwardness in groups I don't know, but it does explain part of it. I feel very awkward carrying on conversations with people I don't know very well. Some people have the charisma necessary to make themselves accepted in any group of people. I'm not one of them.

Is the point of life to know who people are?
No, but life is helped out by knowing people. Think of it as oil for the rest of the machinery of life.

I always envy people that can analyze themselves and others, I have no patience for it. But, I am interested in your thoughts on the subject. This way I can think about it, without performing a long boring analysis of people. That is really boring. It is so much more fun to discuss and do stuff with people than to profile and analyze them.

I definitely agree. Like I said, I don't do it on purpose or by design. If someone's on my radar, I just kind of ... collect information on them, I guess. Long analyses of people are really boring, I agree. That's why I don't generally talk with people about my observations, because they start thinking I actually stalk my friends. I don't. I just pick things up about them over extended periods of time. If I were trying to watch people, I'd be a creeper of the first order.

B

Myself

2011-03-11T22:07:00.000-08:00

I had an interesting creative writing assignment this week. I had to describe myself from different points of view, including my own and my enemy's. Because I have nothing better to post today, I'll let you read them for yourselves.

People say that the hardest thing to do is to know oneself. Well, I’m here to prove that to you. I don’t quite know who I am. The labels people try to stick on me are laughable. I’m a “perky Goth;” I’m a “capable and mature young woman;” I’m “emo;” “homeschooled;” “Christian;” “insufferable.” It’s reassuring to know other people are secure in my identity. Personally, I wish they’d agree on something. It’s hard to find myself when I’m both a drama-queen and immensely practical. All these artificial labels confuse me. Who am I? I’m Problematic: female; age seventeen. Insert your adjective here.

The lifespan of a teenager is supposedly spent trying to find that teenager’s identity. I suppose there’s some truth in that - I just haven’t found my identity yet. Who am I? I’m a truth seeker. I search to find ultimate reality. I search to find myself, and I long to discover others. I’m a philosopher: I love wisdom. There’s more to it, though. I’m sarcastic: I cope with pain by laughing at it. GK Chesterton is one of my favorite authors and he once stated “Always be comic in a tragedy. What the deuce else can you do?” I heartily agree. Pain is best dealt with when treated lightly.

All this could be condensed into some simple facts. I’m a teenager, driven by hormones, searching for myself. We’ll see how well I find what I’m looking for.

~*~

I dislike Problematic. She’s insufferable, a nuisance. She’s a mélange of arrogance, insecurity, and

prudishness. How can I explain it?

Ah, an example. Say, for instance, she goes to a party full of strangers. While the party has a good time, Problematic sits in the corner, smiling occasionally and passing judgment on the lesser mortals. They’re enjoying themselves too much. This one is a flirt, that one is an exhibitionist. The one in the center of the room is perverted. You don’t want to know what sort of pedantic thoughts flit through her head if she sees a couple go off by their selves. Granted, she never acts on these musings, but you cannot deny their existence.

What makes this stiff formality even worse is her reaction to its effects. Instead of feeling satisfaction from knowing that no one likes her, Problematic instead grows morose and wonders at her continued state of unpopularity. It is within her power to change her reputation, but her attempts fail nonetheless. When she does loosen up and enjoy herself, she becomes loud and obnoxious. She’ll glance nervously about the room while laughing raucously, looking for a sign of disapproval in her companions’ faces. What would happen when she finds discomfort is not what you’d think. Rather than returning to her silent state, Problematic instead grows louder and more intolerable.

Believe me when I say Problematic is an annoying twit without an ounce of social graces. I have to live with her every day, and her inability to do anything right wears on me. If you confront her on your new information, she’ll deny it. But your comments will just increase her insecurity. My job here is done.

~*~

There you have it. Myself from my own perspective and my enemy's. Bet that's more of a look at Problematic's psyche than you were really looking for today.

Faking My Own Suicide

2011-03-07T09:21:00.000-08:00

This week's Music Monday is by Relient K. I like them. Enough said. Moving on ... I like Faking My Own Suicide, by Relient K, because I don't like love songs.They're usually pretty sappy and just not the type of music I enjoy listening to. Obviously, there are some exceptions. And this happens to be one. It has an interesting take on the theme of unrequited love - and some of the puns that are employed are awful, in the best way possible.

Ladies, and Gents,
Faking My Own Suicide

So I've made up my mind
I will pretend
To leave this world behind
And in the end
You'll know I've lied
To get your attention
I'm faking my own suicide

I'm faking my own suicide
Because I know you love me
You just haven't realized
I'm faking my own suicide
They'll hold a double funeral
Because a part of you will die
Along with me

I wish you thought that I was dead
So rather than me
You'd be depressed instead
And before arriving at my grave
You'd come to the conclusion
You'd loved me all your days
But it's too late
Too late for you to say

Because I'm faking my own suicide
Because I know you love me
You just haven't realized
I'm faking my own suicide
They'll hold a double funeral
Because a part of you will die
Along with me

I'll write you a letter that you'll keep
Reminding you your love for me
Is more than six feet deep
You say aloud that you
Would've been my wife
And right about that time
Is when I come back to life
And let you know
I'd let you know (whooaa)

That all along I was faking my own suicide
Because I know you loved me
You just never realized
I was faking my own suicide
I'll walk in that room,
See your eyes open so wide
Open so wide
Because you know
Because you know
You will never leave my sight (you will never leave my sight)
Until the day that I die for the first time (until I die for the first time)
And we'll laugh, yeah we'll laugh
And we will cry
So overjoyed with our love
That's so alive
Our love is so alive

Friends

2011-03-02T21:59:00.000-08:00

To be quite honest, the concept of friends scares me. Why? Because of the level of implicit trust comes to fruition in their company. But not just any friends - mates. The type who really know who one is.

I read someone somewhere (don't ask me for credentials, I couldn't provide them) that "friends are the people who know who you really are and still choose to be seen in public with you." I don't know about you, but I'm a pretty disgusting piece of humanity inside my little facade. I get angry, petty, peevish, out of sort, ticked off, jealous, or just plain grumpy for some pretty stupid reasons. My mates, unfortunately, have been subjected to that behavior despite my best efforts to limit their exposure. And it scares me that I have to trust them.

Think about it. My friends have seen me at my worst. I'm not indulging in hyperbole when I say that. They've seen some pretty unsavory stuff. They've seen me at the bottom. And they still choose to be seen with me in public. I have no choice but to trust them because the cat is out of the bag. It's not a secret I can keep because the ball is already in their court. It's a level of implicit trust that I cannot alter. The only thing I can do is to worry about it.

Take right now, for instance. I'm ... concerned, to say the least. I've told three people about my peculiar malady in the past month, and am not sure I wanted to in the first place. The first example, I had no choice. Once again, it came out without meaning to. And the second time, it was a reciprocal piece of trust. So while they make me uncomfortable, it's nothing worth staying up over. However, today was something different. There was a split second where I could have recovered, saved myself and kept my secret. And yet, it still came out.

I feel like an idiot. I feel like an exhibitionist. And worst of all, I feel horrible about it. This last instance was not someone who needed the information. If anything, it may only add to his problems. The conversation wasn't naturally turning in the way I forced it.

I'm mad at myself. I made a promise not to talk with anyone about anything, and here I am breaking my word for a reason yet obscured to me. I told aa friend who I enjoy being friends with. If I knew why it came out in the first place, I wouldn't feel so bad.

But as it is, I'm no better than any other attention seeking silly teen-aged girl sharing secrets for a friend's attention. And until I can fix my mistake in person, I have to sit on the fence, trusting my friends against my will.

B

Holding Out for a Hero

2011-02-28T10:42:00.000-08:00

Have you ever had a good, old fashioned case of wanderlust? I have. I have it all the time. And this song, sung by Jennifer Saunders, does nothing but aggravate it. It's great to motivate me to work out, so I can be ready for the Doctor. Or Aragorn. Or my gypsy. Or ... well, you get the picture. I have a love/hate relationship with this song. On the one hand, it makes me want to wander. On the other, it makes me reaaallly want to wander. I'm sure you understand now.

Holding Out For A Hero, by Jennifer Saunders

Where have all the good men gone
And where are all the gods?
Where's the street-wise Hercules
To fight the rising odds?
Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?
Late at night I I toss and turn and dream of what I need

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night
He's gotta be strong
And he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

Somewhere after midnight
In my wildest fantasy
Somewhere just beyond my reach
There's someone reaching back for me
Racing on the thunder and rising with the heat
It's gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night
He's gotta be strong
And he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

Up where the mountains meet the heavens above
Out where the lightning splits the sea
I would swear that there's someone somewhere
Watching me

Through the wind and the chill and the rain
And the storm and the flood
I can feel his approach
Like fire in my blood

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night
He's gotta be strong
And he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

O Valencia

2011-02-21T10:36:00.000-08:00

Yup. I've done it again. It's a song by the Decemberists. Am I ashamed? Not in the slightest. I love this song. It's like Romeo and Juliet meets the West Side Story meets some other story which is really familiar and I can't remember quite at the moment. Oh, that's right. King Lear. It's a story song, and I'm a sucker for a song that tells a story. I hope you enjoy O Valencia by the Decemberists.

O Valencia

You belong to the gang
And you say you can't break away
But I'm here with my hands on my heart

Our families can't agree
I'm your brother's sworn enemy
But I'll shout out my love to the stars

So wait for the stone on your window, your window
Wait by the car and we'll go, we'll go

When first we laid eyes
I swore to no compromise
'Til I felt my caress on your skin

Well, how soon we were betrayed
Your sister gave us away
And your father came all unhinged

So wait for the stone on your window, your window
Wait by the car and we'll go, we'll go

Oh Valencia
With your blood still warm on the ground
Valencia
And I swear to the stars
I'll burn this whole city down

All I heard was a shout
Of your brother calling me out
And you ran like a fool to my side

Well the shot, it hit hard
And your frame went limp in my arms
And an oath of love was your dying cry

So wait for the stone on your window, your window
Wait by the car and we'll, go we'll go

Oh Valencia
With your blood still warm on the ground
Valencia
And I'll burn this whole city down
Valencia
With your blood gettin' cold on the ground
Valencia
And I swear to the stars
I'll burn this whole city down

2011-02-15T16:16:00.001-08:00

We, the undersigned, do pledge our word to live by the maxims set forth in this Declaration.

1. We swear to be prudent, not prudish
2. We shall endeavor, in thought at deed, to ascertain when to SHUT UP.
3. We pledge to keep the distinction between men and women a clear bright-line: to maintain our respective gender's mystiques.
4. We will honor each others company by enjoying friendships free from flirtation.
5. We shall strive to uphold pure motivations and avoid intended innuendo in conversation.

Soul Meets Body

2011-02-14T10:26:00.000-08:00

This is Soul Meets Body, by Death Cab for Cutie. It came up on Pandora one day, and I fell in love with the lyrics. They're kind of strange, kind of interesting, but mostly really cool to think about. Get the feeling that I enjoy my thoughts being provoked by the songs I listen to? Me too. Anyhoo, Soul Meets Body is also helped by the fact that the music itself is quite nice. Overall, I give it 4/5 for musicality and lyricism and mix job. :)

Soul Meets Body

I want to live where soul meets body
And let the sun wrap its arms around me
And bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing
And feel, feel what its like to be new

Cause in my head there’s a greyhound station
Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations
So they may have a chance of finding a place
where they’re far more suited than here

And I cannot guess what we'll discover
When we turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels
But I know our filthy hands can wash one another’s
And not one speck will remain

And I do believe it’s true
That there are roads left in both of our shoes
But if the silence takes you
Then I hope it takes me too
So brown eyes I hold you near
Cause you’re the only song I want to hear
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere

Where soul meets body
Where soul meets body
Where soul meets body

And I do believe it’s true
That there are roads left in both of our shoes
But if the silence takes you
Then I hope it takes me too
So brown eyes I hold you near
Cause you’re the only song I want to hear
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere

Darlin Do Not Fear

2011-02-07T10:23:00.000-08:00

Some days, I'm just in the mood for light pop. And when I'm in the mood for light pop, I turn to Brett Dennen's song Darlin' Do Not Fear. It's upbeat, chirpy, but not annoyingly so.

Enjoy!

Darlin Do Not Fear

When I arrived in my old set of clothes
I was half a world away from my home
And I was hunted by the wolves and I was heckled by the crows
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know

Alongside my innocence I laid in bed awake
Conflicted and in chains with the impetus of age
But like a phantom she crept across the floor and out the window
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know

From its place on the mantle my heart was taken down
Scattered in a thousand little pieces on the ground
And out below the streetlamp like an orphan with a halo
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know

'Cause it won't last - your worries will pass
All your troubles they don't stand a chance
And sometimes it takes more than a lifetime to know
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know

Your confidences fall, is your faith etched in stone?
Neither can comfort you from the wild unknown
So bury your burning hatred like a hatchet in the snow
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know

If you have a broken heart or a battered soul
Find something to hold on to or to let go
To help you through the hard nights like a flask filled with hope
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know

'Cause it won't last - your worries will pass
All your troubles they don't stand a chance
And it always hurts the worst when it's the ones we love the most
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know

Sometimes your path is marked in the sky
Sometimes you're forced to fit in between the lines
Sometimes all that you can do is say no
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know

I said, when I arrived in my old set of clothes
I was half a world away from my home
And I was hunted by the wolves and I was heckled by the crows
Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know

I said, Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know
We said, Darlin' do not fear

Grab Bag #3

2011-02-05T22:09:00.000-08:00

I must apologize to my followers. Due to a couple of tournaments and much time spent getting caught up with schoolwork, I have forsaken this blog. Prospects don't look much better for the rest of the school year. But to catch everyone up on what's been happening in the life of Problematic, here is a third grab bag of joy.

January 2011 started interestingly. I started the year in an intense state of stress, due to the fact that the first tournament of the year was in the second week of January. Not only that, but this tournament was in California. Yes, my dear readers, I was in California and did not tell you. I'm sorry. I posted updates about that tournament on Facebook and sent them to my speech club, so if you are one of the unfortunate few who know me in real life/are facebook friends with me, you can read all about it to your heart's content. During this trip, I also visited Biola University, which is one of the colleges on my list right now. I am, after all, a junior.

So, I get home from California, and have one week to do two weeks of homework and prepare for the next tournament. The second tournament was in the fourth week of January. This one was down in Medford, Oregon. I drove down there with my friends Shorty and Shrimpy and Cassandra. Let's just say that there was bonding over caffeine, Pirate's Booty, and **ahem**[censored]. I love these ladies dearly.

Let's see here. What else is new? I've been swamped with homework, have a tournament coming up next weekend, and again the last weekend of February. I got a bad cold last weekend coming home from Medford and am still not over it. And cold medicine does interesting things to my head. I've written a couple more songs which, surprisingly enough, aren't total failures. And I've spent far too much time ignoring some of my more unpleasant thoughts so I can continue to function for the next four months.

Four months. Can you believe it? I have to keep my head above water for a whole four more month. I don't know if I can do it. I mean, I've gotten three months in, but it feels like I can't tread water for that long and my sanity moved out because we had irreconcilable differences.

I was at the doctor's office this week because during last week's tournament, I fell over from my dizziness. Did I mention I've been having dizzy spells since August? Anyway, he was trying to figure out why I've been getting dizzy, and asked about what I did during my free time. I jokingly asked "free time? What is this free time you speak of?" but in all actuality, the joke's not too funny. He didn't think so either. You know something's messed up when your social life is mainly going over duo-stuff with your duo partner. Nothing against Calvin - he's an awesome partner and I enjoy working with him, but I have no spare time. I couldn't tell the doctor about any recent time when I'd been able to relax and just chill.

Meh. I just want to sleep until Summer, and then sleep some more. All this is is to say, I probably won't be posting much in the next four months as I fight my junior year in highschool for supremacy. I'll try to schedule Music Mondays when I can, but don't count on anything spectacular or interesting. If I slow down to think, I'm going to lose it. And my house of cards can't afford to take any more damage than it's already sustained.

Crazily yours,
B

All The Right Moves

2011-01-24T10:22:00.000-08:00

To be quite honest, this song disappoints me most of the time. The lyrics are good enough that the opening riffs fall flat like day-old root beer. However, there are a couple days out of the year when All the Right Moves, by OneRepublic is just was I want to listen to. Today is one of those days. You know the ones --- where the only music you want to listen to is the mediocre stuff, acknowledging, and perhaps reveling a bit in the moderate qualities of the song. Also, the music video is pretty nice.

Ladies and gents, if you haven't heard this song before, you must have been living in a cave for the past decade. (Or something. I don't remember when it came out, I just know I've heard it for years).

All the Right Moves

All the right friends in all the wrong places
So yeah, we're going down
They got all the right moves in all the right faces
So yeah, we're going down

Just paint the picture of a perfect place
They got it better than what anyone's told you
They'll be the King of Hearts, and you're the Queen of Spades
Then we'll fight for you like we were your soldiers

I know we've got it good
But they got it made
And the grass is getting greener each day
I know things are looking up
But soon they'll take us down,
before anybody's knowing our name.

They got all the right friends in all the right places
So yeah, we're going down
We've got all the right moves and all the wrong faces
So yeah, we're going down
They said, everybody knows, everybody knows where we're going
Yeah, we're going down
They said, everybody knows, everybody knows where we're going
Yeah, we're going down

Do you think I'm special?
Do you think I'm nice?
Am I bright enough to shine in your spaces?
Between the noise you hear
And the sound you like
Are we just sinking in an ocean of faces?

It can be possible that rain can fall,
Only when it's over our heads
The sun is shining everyday, but it's far away
Over the world is death.

They got,
They got,
All the right friends in all the wrong places
So yeah, we're going down
They got, all the right moves and all the wrong faces
So yeah, we're going down

They said, everybody knows, everybody knows where we're going
Yeah, we're going down
They said, everybody knows, everybody knows where we're going
http://www.elyricsworld.com/all_the_right_moves_lyrics_one_republic.html
Yeah, we're going down

It don't matter what you see.
I know I could never be
Someone that'll look like you.
It don't matter what you say,
I know I could never face
someone that could sound like you.

All the right friends in all the wrong places
So yeah, we're going down
They got all the right moves and all the right faces
So yeah, we're going down

All the right friends in all the wrong places
So yeah, we're going down
They got all the right moves and all the right faces
So yeah, we're going down

They said, everybody knows, everybody knows where we're going
Yeah, we're going down
They said, everybody knows, everybody knows where we're going
Yeah, we're going down.

Yeah, we're going down.
Yeah, we're going down.

(All the right moves, hey)
Yeah, we're going down
(All the right moves, hey)
Yeah, we're going down

Scalliwag

2011-01-17T16:18:00.000-08:00

Today's Music Monday is brought to you by my wanderlust. I have said enough. Ladies and gents, please enjoy Scalliwag, by Gaelic Storm.

Scalliwag, by Gaelic Storm

Come away come away with the traveling show
come away with the raggle taggle gypsy oh!
We'll raggle-taggle here we'll raggle-taggle there, raggle up and down taggle everywhere.

From the North from the South from the East from the West, well the sky is our roof and the road is our rest.
No one to say 'yes', no one to say 'no'.
Run free with the raggle-taggle gypsy oh!

They locked you in a tower and threw away the key but this tower's no match for a wag like me
I'll be sneaking through your gate I'll be peaking round the corner well I've come to take your daughter, don't you say I didn't warn ya.

I'll be bringing you a fiddle I'll be singing you a song we'll fiddle, sing, sing, fiddle all day long.

In the halls and the walls they will her us sing and say "whack fol the diddle diddle die diddle day"

Chorus:
Come on and wade, way out into the wayer with me, we're drowning on dry land.
Come on and wade way out into the water with me... Jump in and take my hand.

I'll be rapping at your window I'll be knocking at your door I'll be tip tippy tapping, tippy tapping on the floor
With me fine silk britches and a feather in me hat If I run into your father then I'll stop and have a chat!
Cutting through your garden on the way to rendezvous and the owls in the trees are hooting "who are you?"
And the mice and the cats and the spiders and the bats we're dancing 'round the kitchen like a pack of acrobats

Run away, Run away with the traveling show Run away with the rambling gypsy oh!

Come on and wade, way out into the wayer with me, we're drowning on dry land.
Come on and wade way out into the water with me... Jump in and take my hand.

A roving and a running and a riding on the sea and everywhere we go as happy as can be
All the mountains and the valleys and the rivers and the streams, all the lovely places that you've seen in your dreams
I'll give you the heavens, the stars in the sky, every wooded creature, every bird and butterfly
I've never had a fotune not a penny will you find you're my one and only treasure, you can leave all the rest behind.

Come on and wade, way out into the wayer with me, we're drowning on dry land.
Come on and wade way out into the water with me... Jump in and take my hand.

More lyrics: http://www.lyricsmania.com/scalliwag_lyrics_gaelic_storm.html
All about Gaelic Storm: http://www.musictory.com/music/Gaelic+Storm

The Cast

2011-01-10T12:18:00.000-08:00

Out of a morbid curiosity, I was going through the archives of this blog, and found this delicious post. I gave you an idea of who the recurring characters in my melodrama were. Well, a lot of these characters have passed out of my life, so it is high time that my reader become reacquainted with the Cast.

First, an update on older members of the cast:
NtropyNcarnate has gone to college.
Lady Specs has gone to college.
UnexpectedSong has gone to college.
Toothpick has married.
Pipsqueak has joined Running Start.
Dory is at community college.

Now, to introduce the new members:
the Professor is a speaker and novice debater from my club.
Milan is an unexpected friend from California. She is a debater in college, and has been an incredible blessing to know.
Bill is more scenery than anything else. He's UnexpectedSong's little brother. Worldview 2010 was made bearable by hanging out with him and the Professor.
SirSarcasm is a relatively new, also unexpected friend and brother from speech and debate, now in college.
Shorty is a debater whom I've been getting to know over the past year. She's "more cool than hot sauce" in her own words.
Shrimpy is a friend, also from speech and debate, who I look forward to getting to know more over the coming year. She's Shorty's debate partner.

Old friends I never introduced.
Ophelia - a lovely girl from church. She used to blog, but has since left the self-centric world for reality.
Grey - Ophelia's older sister. Also used to blog, but is fairly infrequent now. Both Grey and Ophelia competed in speech and debate, but have dropped out for more edifying activities. :)

There you have it. More characters to keep track of!

Weary

2011-01-06T22:33:00.000-08:00

Well, I haven't found the words, precisely, but I have found a word.

Weary, adjective: Having one's interest, forbearance, or indulgence worn out.

I am weary. My forbearance with life is worn out. The constant stress, the mundane melodrama, and the ever present, lurking thoughts of "I've messed up again" are wearing me down. I want out.

It's hard to explain. I've yet to find the words to explain. But this one word, it's a start.

B

Vagabond, by Blackmore's Night

2011-01-03T17:41:00.000-08:00

I was trying to describe this band to Calvin the other day, with less than satisfactory results. If you've ever tried to talk music with someone who doesn't listen to the same style as yourself, you know what I mean when I say it's like speaking different languages. Suffice to say, Blackmore's Night is incredible. It has beautiful lyrics, melodies that could spring from the 1300s, and some pretty awesome guitar riffs to boot. Ladies and gents, I give you Vagabond, by Blackmore's Night.

Vagabond

There's many a crooked path
That has ended me here
Tired, broken and wearing rags
Wild eyed with fear

There's so much more to this vagabond
Than the eye can see
You can see me through different eyes
Make a princess of me

Door to door with a heavy heart
Try to stave off the cold
In the distance a gypsy cart
Filled with thieves and rogues

Sing for supper and sing for pence
A song's all I have to give
With a fiddle and with no rest
Singing only to live

Through the window a golden glow
Families gather round
Here outside it starts to snow
Silence the only sound

B

post scriptum: Last week's Music Monday was not published by me. My brother Thursday broke into my computer in revenge for a hard time I gave him concerning a certain young lady in his acquaintance.

Pleased to make your acquaintance

2011-01-01T22:13:00.000-08:00

Hello there! I'm Problematic. You haven't met me before, but it's understandable. You only just became. I have a feeling we're going to be the best of friends this year. No, no, I completely agree. If we're going to be best friends, you need to know a bit about what's been happening. My relationship with your predecessor. No, I didn't kill it. It left on its own, quite without my help. You're curious now? Well, so am I.

I stole a form from my friend, Bethany. You should meet her, too. Anyways, this form will make the acquaintance a little easier. Are you ready? Let's leap right in. :)

Well, the past relationship was strained. A feeling of exuberance carried over from your predecessor's predecessor. Things looked pretty peachy. In the early months of our time together, 2010 and I got into many messes throughout tournament season. Spirits were high. I criticized angsty teenagers. I congratulated my clubmates on their achievements in the great realm of competitive forensics. I made opinionated, annoying, aggravating, or just amusing sarcastic comments on a great many things I didn't properly understand.

Then in March, I went and paged at the state capitol, Olympia. That was very exhilarating, and I've completely lost faith in the state of our country as a result. But the power, the incredible power of it all! I'm sorry, I have to work on suppressing my evil chuckles. It won't happen again, I promise. Don't quote me on that.

Anyways, there was a violin concert where I endeavored to make my lovely, luscious Ignatius sound like a bagpipe, with a surprising amount of success. However, in March, things started taking a turn for the worse. As I've said in previous posts (which, 2011, you may want to check out as they explain quite a bit) I don't have the words to talk about that now, but suffice it to say, the clouds were rolling in, and rosy-fingered Aurora was no longer visible above the menacing strata of rain storms.

April was the Regional Qualifier. My good friend Jedi Gerbil qualified to Nationals as well as a few others, but I had the task of cheering up a few depressive clubmates who thought that their first turn at Regionals would yield fantastic results.

In May, my uncle Barry Hendrickson died, leaving behind a wife and little girl. We do not know if he ever accepted Christ or not. Also in May, I was accepted into a local drama company's protection of Much Ado About Nothing. I strongly believe it was based on my violin and not on any acting ability I may hope to possess. June through early July was spent in rehearsals for Much Ado, saying goodbyes to friends who were all but digested in the life of college, and preparing from my month of hell. During the rehearsals, I asked Calvin if he'd consider being my duo partner for the upcoming tournament season --- that's the one that you'll be watching with me. :)

Immediately after the last performance of Much Ado, 2010 and I headed over to Worldview Academy for a week of recursiveness. It was alright, more for getting to know a couple kids from the league. Then I taught Speech Camp. Then, I played in a pit orchestra for Les Miserables. Then, I went to debate camp. All in the space of three weeks. At debate camp, 2010 and I had some nice, good, old-fashioned emotional moments.

And met a new friend. From now on, I shall refer to her as Milan. :)

In the fall, I dealt with the mass migration of friends out of my circle. And a few others things as well which belong in my journal. Impertiant year! No, I don't trust you to keep a secret. Sorry. Sorry. Wrong way to start out. Sorry. :)

Anyways, those are the high and low-lights. But to sum things up... Just between friends, you understand. Don't expect this to happen in public or anything.

Classic Epic Times: Running around Coop B with NtropyNcarnate, giggling with Grey and Ophelia and other friends and staying up far too late considering the tournaments the next day, bannana gun fights with Escapist, teaching a class about cutting interps on the fly, chasing down the Professor with a cup of water and being soaked by his gallon of ice-tea.

First: energy drink, adoptive older brother, friend married, friends lost, college visit, part in a produced play, driving all the way across the state of Montana, close family member to die.

Most nostalgic songs: Inside of You, In Spite of You; So She Dances; Dark Waltz; Always Look On the Bright Side of Life; Kernkraft 500; Prelude 12/21; Lost?; I Can Walk On Water; Not Gonna Get Us

Favorite memories: Waterfights over the summer; sleepovers with friends; hiking Mt. Si with Speech and Debate friends; conversations on the balcony; bugging the Professor with a Basshunter song all week at Worldview

Major Hits: Converse, Tascam DP-02, Pike Place Market, Despicable Me, Sherlock Holmes, Inception, iPod, Henna, KatyBell Socks, Knee High Leather Boots, stilleto heels, Kershaw knives, YMCA, Jamba Juice, Five Pump No Water Non Fat Chai Tea Lattes

Best Books: The Elegance of the Hedgehog, The Schwa Was Here, The Hunger Games series, the Harry Potter serires, Stargirl, Nuremberg: Infamy On Trial, I Have Lived A Thousand Years, Mistborn Series, Elantris, I Am Not A Serial Killer

Best Music: Nightwish, Snow Patrol, Coldplay, Sherlock Holmes-Schindler's List-Lord of the Rings-Inception soundtracks, The Eternal Chapter, Within Temptation, select Basshunter selections, Loreena McKennit

Keywords: cards, caffeine, facade, insomnia, bleary, bannana

Keywords [inside joke edition]: Foot-lover, brrrgggh??!, bannana-bread, ding!, wibbly-wobbly

Favorite teacher: Dr. Lund

Best quotes:

"You know, you look like a international jewel thief. I don't trust you one bit."

"You've got an innocent face but scarily crafty eyes."

"I thought they were giving the quilt a rest - but there's a dog in there..."

" If I'm a Spitfire, that makes you a Panzer: Slow, ground-borne, and easy to destroy from the air..."

"You're a one-track mind with a skip on it"

'Dalink, dis iz Russia. Ve have vodka on tap."

"You smell like a mad scientist - musty with a megalomaniacal overtone."

"I'm like red wine, complete with the nutty undertones." (this and the one previous to it came from entirely different conversations.)

"Problematic, if you're my sister, you're my little sister." "But I'm older than you." "And this proves what?"

And there you have it, 2011. See? You know me already! So, with that footing, I'd like to say, once and for all. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance.

B

Goodnight 2010

2010-12-31T19:26:00.000-08:00

Well, I still haven't quite found the words to describe things yet. There are quite a few unfinished drafts sitting in the publishing queue, so while we wait, I'll redo a New Year's tag. Here you go.

3 things I accomplished last year:
1. Paging at the Washington State Senate
2. Overcame my phobia of being touched
3. Received recording equipment!

3 things I plan to accomplish this year:
1. Get closer to NCFCA Nationals (if not actually to them)
2. Survive
3. learn guitar

3 embarrassing things that happened last year:
1.Crying in front of a stranger at debate camp (but it all worked out ;P )
2.Trust games in drama over the summer.They involved being held (like this, with less intent to snog and more stiffness), by my soon-to-be duo partner and dealing with my phobia of being touched.
3. Presuming friendship with someone who didn't want it.

3 life-changing things that happened last year:
1. Teaching Speech Camp and attending debate camp
2. A very unpleasant realization
3. Singing "I Am Sixteen Going On Seventeen" the eve before my 17th birthday. The only time I sang it while 16.

3 things that happened last year that made me smile:
1. Being told I looked like an international jewel thief
2. Adopting a few new brothers - older and younger
3. Arguing with a debater from the National Forensics League about Communism

3 random things that I didn't do last year:
1. I didn't go to Hawaii
2. I didn't record an album
3.I didn't forget to water the orchid (at least, I didn't until it died.)

Intruder Alert!

2010-12-20T12:00:00.000-08:00

This isn't really a new post, despite appearances, as I've been busy lately and so this just feels too short to really count.

Thank you for holding. Please enjoy the music.

My Body Is A Cage

2010-12-20T09:00:00.000-08:00

To be quite honest, I'm not quite sure what to think of this song. When I first listened to it, I thought it was beautifully, if pointlessly morbid, and had no resolution. It sounded like the dualists who believe that the physical world is entirely worthless, and that their bodies trap them in an existence that is nothing like what true reality is.

But the melody was catchy, so I looked up the lyrics and found Biblical allusions in the verses. So I'm in the strange position of loving the melody and verses, but can't quite decide whether to love or hate the chorus.

Have at it!

My Body Is A Cage, by Arcade Fire

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

I'm standing on a stage
Of fear and self-doubt
It's a hollow play
But they'll clap anyway

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key

I'm living in an age
That calls darkness light
Though my language is dead
Still the shapes fill my head

I'm living in an age
Whose name I don't know
Though the fear keeps me moving
Still my heart beats so slow

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key
My body is a

My body is a cage
We take what we're given
Just because you've forgotten
That don't mean you're forgiven

I'm living in an age
That screams my name at night
But when I get to the doorway
There's no one in sight

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key

Set my spirit free
Set my spirit free
Set my body free

Low

2010-12-18T17:55:00.000-08:00

Dear readers, before you chastise me for a record-breaking delay on Music Monday, let me explain. This past week has been pretty stressful. What with the last week of classes, the reports due, Christmas next week, and an upcoming tournament to prepare for, I completely lost track of time. So today, Saturday, let me offer you a humble piece for your musical edification.

Low, by Coldplay, comes off one of my favorite albums: X&Y. While I admit that some of this album confounds my mind entirely, the theme is that of relationships. And if you can sense a theme here, you're a genius.

Anyways, I like Low because it seems to be talking about someone searching for perfect love but not finding it. It's interesting like that.

Ladies and gents,

Low, by Coldplay
You see the world in black and white
No colour or light
You think you'll never get it right
But you know you might

The sky could fall could fall on me
The parting of the seas
But you mean more, mean more to me
Than any color I can see

All you ever wanted was love
But you never looked hard enough
It's never gonna give itself up
All you ever wanted to be
Living in perfect symmetry
Nothing is as down or as up... as us

You see the world in black and white
Not painted right
You see no meaning to your life
Yes, you try
Yes, you try

And all you ever wanted it was love
But you never looked hard enough
It's never gonna give itself up

All you ever wanted to be
Living in perfect symmetry
Nothing is as down or as up

Don't you want to see it come soon
Floating in a big white balloon
Oh, given your own silver spoon

Don't you want to see it come down
There for throwing your arms around
an sayin "you're a moment too soon"

Cause I feel low
Cause I feel low
Oh oh oh oh oh
Yeah I feel low

For A Friend Close To My Heart

2010-12-08T07:36:00.001-08:00

For the past few weeks, I've been working on a sonnet for a British Literature class. Iambic pentameter, quatrains and couplets filled my head as I wrote. Because I spent so much time on this, I figured I'd post this. Not to continue a common theme or anything, of course.

My dearest friend for whom I’d give my life

Has killed my spirit to the core, for I

Have been a faithful friend. We had no strife

‘twixt us, yet still you cause my soul to die.

Our hearts did beat as one, did dream as one,

Inseparable were we. I gave no cause

To hurt me thus, yet hurt me you have done.

Never I have broken friendship’s true laws,

And yet you chastise me. But still I’d take

Great pain from you. For faithful friends are true

Through earthly woes and problems that you make ---

I’ll guard your back in all the things you do.

As David with Saul did not break nor sever

So will my faithfulness be yours forev’r.

2010-12-07T12:34:00.000-08:00

Friends, I appear to have relapsed. While I can't recall blogging about this previously, the pages of my journal from last year are filled this particular issue: my great social anxiety. Don't laugh. It's not funny.

I had thought that, only by God's grace, I had overcome that hurdle, but as I just said, I seem to have relapsed. Due to quite a few semi-related incidents in the past few weeks, I once again question and re-question every action's motivation.

It doesn't stop there. My motivations aren't the only victims. My tact. My approach. Other's interpretations. What my mother would say.

They've all returned in full force, bringing me back to the realization that a mountain top in the Himalayas doesn't look so bad after all. My honeymoon with humanity appears to be over. It's back to business as usual: ie, psychotic Problematic.

What's more, Sylvia, my alter-ego, seems to have returned as well. Don't misinterpret this. I don't have fractured personalities. Rather, what I do have is a very dark sense of humor, irony, cynicism, and a generally morbid fascination with loneliness in pain, all of which I term "Sylvia" to distinguish them from who I consider myself to be.

Wait a second. I thought we were seeing the dark side of Problematic these past few months.

There is actually a difference, but it's a little hard to explain. Basically, Sylvia is an appreciation for the beauty in tragedy combined with a complete disdain for assumed pain. Sylvia is a stoic philosopher from the days of Greek philosophy. She's an aesthetic, if a cynical and calloused one.

While Sylvia was gone, I had more compassion for other teenagers going through their own trials. "It's possible," I told myself, "that their grief is just as real as mine."

But the return of double-think and Sylvia is making me wonder if all the angst of the past fall has been nothing but that: they type of dramatics I despise so much caused by nothing more than the racing of chemicals and hormones through my pubescent body. It need not be stated that this doubt extends to others, even the ones I love and trust.

The sum of all this is to say that yet another layer has been added to my melodrama. GK Chesterton once said "Always be comic in a tragedy. What the deuce else can you do?" and while I am having trouble following his advice, I agree, there's not much else you can do. Wait it out and laugh.

It's aggravating, really. I was close, ever so close to breaking out into full-fledged humanity. To be caught in old traps when freedom was close enough to smell is frustrating. I am impotent in my own snares.

Yes, they protect me, but at what cost? Is reality worth enough to open myself up to for more betrayals? What if they're self-inflicted injuries? What price am I willing to pay to be secure in the knowledge that no one else will hurt me? Should I prefer the injuries of a friend to ones of my own devising?

Friends, if you think of it, please include me in your prayers. Because that mountain top has never looked so appealing.

B

Stand My Ground

2010-12-07T10:51:00.000-08:00

Stand My Ground, by Within Temptation is yet another favorite of mine. I enjoy exercising to it because of it's driving beat and resolved lyrics. It's quite pretty.

Stand My Ground

I can see
when you stay low nothing happens
Does it feel right?

Late at night
things I thought I'd put behind me
haunt my mind

I just know there's no escape now
once it's set its eyes on you
but I won't run, have to stare it in the eye

Stand my ground, I won't give in
No more denying, I gotta face it
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don't make it, someone else will
Stand My Ground

It's all around
getting stronger, coming closer
into my world

I can feel
that it's time for me to face it
can I take it?

Though this might just be the ending
of the life I held so dear
but I won't run, there's no turning back from here

Stand my ground, I won't give in
No more denying, I gotta face it
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don't make it, someone else will
Stand My Ground

All I know for sure is I'm trying
I will always stand my ground

Stand my ground, I won't give in (I won't give in)
I won't give up (I won't give up)
no more denying, I got to face it
won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
if I don't make it, someone else will

Stand my ground, I won't give in
No more denying, I gotta face it
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don't make it, someone else will
Stand My Ground.

The Legionnaire's Lament

2010-11-30T17:32:00.000-08:00

Well, I'd better 'fess up. I've been on a binge of The Decemberists. At the moment, they're the only band I want to listen to. It's no small surprise, therefore, to find myself introducing you to a song from, you guessed it, The Decemberists. It's called the Legionnaire's Lament. The thing I like about this particular song is that it is set in a historical era - the French Legion. Not only that, but the images it captures are so vivid, and the language used is just perfect. But enough about the mechanics. You should experience it for yourselves.

The Legionnaire's Lament, by The Decemberists

I'm a legionnaire
Camel in disrepair
Hoping for a frigidaire to come passing by
I am on reprieve
Lacking my joie de vive
Missing my gay paris
In this desert dry

And I wrote my girl
Told her I would not return
Terribly taken a turn
For the worse now I fear

It's been a year or more
Since they shipped me to this foreign shore
Fighting in a foreign war
So far away from my home

If only summer rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevards
And the side walk bagatelles it's like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lulling of the cafe bars,
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine.
Lord I don't know if I'll ever be back again.

La la la la dam
La la la low

Medicating in the sun
Pinched doses of laudanum
Longing for the old fecundity of my homeland
Curses to this mirage!
A bottle of ancient Chiraz
A smattering of distant applause
Is ringing in my poor ears

On the old left bank
My baby in a charabanc
Riding up the width and length
Of the Champs Elysees

If only summer rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevard
And the side walk bagatelles it's like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lulling of the cafe bars
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine
Lord I don't know if I'll ever be back again

If only summer rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevard
And the side walk bagatelles its like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lulling of the cafe bars
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine
Lord I don't know if I'll ever be back again...

Be back again,
Be back again,
I'll be back again

B

Fly, you fools

2010-11-27T22:31:00.000-08:00

This past Thursday was Thanksgiving,the holiday where we eat lots of food and show off our philosophical sides by musing aloud for the gathered company on things we're thankful for. Don't imagine that my cynicism dulls my enjoyment of this holiday. In fact, it is my favorite of them all. Because it is a National Holiday, schools from kindergarten to post-graduate take two days off. Thus I find myself this weekend with the friends I so dearly missed coming back to Washington.

For the majority of these partially-digested college friends, such is no longer the case. Perhaps it was the antagonistic room-mates. Perhaps, it was because I wasn't as good friends with them as I deluded myself. Maybe the High-School switch was permanently welded into the "off" position their first week of college. It could be all three.

Whatever the case, I found myself in the awkward position of pretending to be the person I was six months ago- the last time anyone noticed who I am.

Let me tell you, it's not pleasant. Trying to remember and approximate who one's been is a difficult task in the privacy of one's bedroom. But to pull off a perfect performance in front of those who knew one and expect one to both remain in the same static stasis and respect the new people they've become is a Herculean task.

I spent the precious time I had with these Once-Friends screaming in my mind.

People change, sweetheart. You've changed while you were at college? That's great, so have I.

I guess they just can't hear,not when it's spoken through non- telepathicmeans. Plain language, straight talking, they are senseless.

From my boat out at sea, I thought I'd seen boats coming over the horizon. Trick of the light, I suppose. Happens that way some times.

All that's left is to mourn the loss of those friends. Don't get me wrong. I discovered this weekend that they couldn't begin to scratch the surface of the plexiglass even if they tried, but this no longer bothers me. They no longer touch me, but I'm still fond of them. The same way you're fond of a particular sportsman or actor with whom you share nothing in common.

So while I mourn, it is not for what is or what could have been. I weep for what was, what has been back when I still cared.

Requiescat in pace, meae amicae.

Reminder

2010-11-21T23:03:00.000-08:00

I am once again reminded of the folly of my ways. This is what happened:

Yesterday was the first speech Round Robin of the year, and as always, I had some interesting conversations with fellow competitors. This year was unique, thought. I had a very intriguing conversation with a couple of friends I had passed judgment on as nice, if clueless, guys. I'm ashamed to admit it, but it's true.

What I discovered yesterday was so "coincidental" it could be nothing short of Divine guidance. Because you see, I found two people who claim to have shared the same malady as me, and what's more, their opinions on this malady were also similar. It was incredible, and entirely unstaged.

Of course, this leads me to wonder if these two young men actually experience the same as I, or if they merely said it to conform to the drift of the conversation. What's more, it is an interesting thought to wonder if they now express doubts about the authenticity of my "confession" as motivated by a desire to fit in with the expressed standard. I will never know, as this topic of conversation will most likely never occur again with my conversation partners. I will not force the issue, and while I cannot tell them this personally, I hope they know their confidence is in safe hands.

Thinking back on this conversation, I become a little embarrassed. Did I reveal too much? Did I say what I said from a desire to impress, blend in? Not to add to the conversation? I don't know, really.

However these two friends came away from the conversation, I can only hope they realize how much harm they could do should they choose. But even with these bitter thoughts, I am elated and chastised.

To have written them off as a silly and stupid guys without even wondering if we had commonalities was a gross error. This lesson won't stick for long, but I hope that maybe, just maybe it will last long enough.

Nothing's really going to change as a result of yesterday's conversation. Being a secret-keeper doesn't automatically grant some special friendship upon the two parties. But I will guard their secrets as my own, because in a way, they are my secrets, too. And if that doesn't make sense, you haven't begun to understand me.

Pensively,
B

Small Rebellions

2010-11-17T18:16:00.000-08:00

Last evening, I wore one of my suits to speech club. It's not a suit I've worn in competition before, seeing that all my suits don't quite fit anymore (they're too big), so I improvised and took a knee-length skirt, a nice blouse, and a suit jacket to get an almost-suit that would pass in a pinch. The ruffles at the bottom of the pencil skirt make it look shorter than it really is, but I figured that since I was wearing dark hose, it wouldn't matter.

Wrong. A new mom in club told me in front of the small group that if she didn't know me, she'd think I was rebelling against the dress code. It was very embarrassing to be told off concerning my clothing in mixed company, especially considering the members of the opposite sex who were listening in. It's a good correction, and I appreciate it, but since I don't plan on using this suit in competition, it was mostly embarrassing/annoying and less helpful.

But it raised an interesting point. If she didn't know me better, she'd have thought I was rebelling.

If she didn't know better, she'd have thought I was rebelling. Think about that for a second.

Well, maybe that doesn't strike you as odd, but it does me. I've always thought of myself as a rebel. As one who goes against the current. As one who doesn't compromise with the status quo. But apparently, I don't act it. Because if this mom didn't know me better, the length of my skirt would look rebellious.

Huh. Do I just tell myself I'm rebellious, unique, strong, to make me feel better for floating downstream with the current? Only dead fish go with the flow, so is this my attempt to justify my lack of action? Do I keep this blog full of dark thoughts to make up for the typical homeschooled Christian girl that I act?

Because regardless of what I tell myself, I'm certainly coming across as nothing less than a dutiful homeschooled kid. Nothing I think will change my actions. But my actions can't deny the things I think. I don't think like your typical homeschooler, not even the ones trying to be different.

Just a quick note before proceeding: In this usage, I do not use "rebellious" with the normal negative connotations.

This leads me to wonder: Am I rebellious by not acting the way I think? Or by not thinking the way I act?

If I acted the way I thought, in real life I'd resemble more closely my current profile picture - romantic and moody clothing with soft lens-flares and all. But I don't dress like that, and I don't act like that ... much.

If I thought the way I acted, I'd be spouting the same goody-two-shoes drivel of my peers that I so despise. I'd be mindless, repeating lessons I learned in Sunday School without thinking about these Truths for myself. I don't do that, either.

So is my little rebellion one of action, or thought? One of contrariness, or deception? If I had to choose, I'd say I rebel by not acting the way a person with similar ideas would. But is that necessarily true? No. Personal preference doesn't change anything.

Whatever the case, my thoughts and actions don't match up. I'm not a hypocrite - a person who acts in contradiction to his or her stated beliefs or feelings (Merriam-Webster's) - because I haven't stated all my beliefs and feelings. It does, however, make me an imposter.

But still the question remains. Am I an imposter in thought, or deed?

B

The Green Fields of France

2010-11-15T22:18:00.000-08:00

My words cannot properly express the emotion inherent in this song. Just listen to it and let the song move itself.

The Green Fields of France, by the Dropkick Murphies.

Oh how do you do, young Willy McBride
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside
And rest for a while in the warm summer sun
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done
And I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the great fallen in 1916
Well I hope you died quick
And I hope you died clean
Or Willy McBride, was is it slow and obscene

Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined
And though you died back in 1916
To that loyal heart you're forever nineteen
Or are you a stranger without even a name
Forever enshrined behind some old glass pane
In an old photograph torn, tattered, and stained
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame

Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest

The sun shining down on these green fields of France
The warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance
The trenches have vanished long under the plow
No gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing now
But here in this graveyard that's still no mans land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man
And a whole generation were butchered and damned

Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest

And I can't help but wonder oh Willy McBride
Do all those who lie here know why they died
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause
Did you really believe that this war would end wars
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing and dying it was all done in vain
Oh Willy McBride it all happened again
And again, and again, and again, and again

Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest

B

Johari, again

2010-11-08T12:13:00.000-08:00

Longtime readers of my blog may remember this link coming up in the past. If you've already done it, my apologies, and please skip this post.

However, I've gained quite a few followers since then. The link I am about to share with you is intriguing. It asks you to pick 5-6 adjectives to describe me, and then compares it with adjectives I chose to describe myself.

Care to give it a spin?

http://kevan.org/johari?name=Problematic

Thanks a ton,
B

Beautiful

2010-11-08T11:55:00.000-08:00

I admit it. I don't like Christian radio. Guilty as charged. But reaaalllyyy early on Saturday, I tuned in to the local station as I rode down to a church work day. Imagine my surprise when the first new song to come up (amidst a generous scattering of the Newsboys and BarlowGirl (blech blech blech) ) was actually decent. More than decent. Good.

Ladies and gents, let me introduce you to a new favorite of mine: Beautiful, by MercyMe. I can't really explain why I like it: Once again, I've run out of words. So my advice? Enjoy the song.

Beautiful, by MercyMe

The days will come when you don't have the strength
When all you hear is you're not worth anything
Wondering if you ever could be loved
And if they truly saw your heart they'd see too much

You're beautiful
You're beautiful
You are made so much more than all of this
You're beautiful
You're beautiful
You are treasured, You are sacred, You are His
You're beautiful

And praying that you have the heart to find
Cause you are more than what is hurting you tonight
For all the lies you've held inside so long
And they are nothing in the shadow of the cross

You're beautiful
You're beautiful
You are made so much more than all of this
You're beautiful
You're beautiful
You are treasured, You are sacred, You are His
You're beautiful

Oh My God

2010-11-04T19:49:00.000-07:00

Due to a variety of reasons, including a bad cold and plenty of homework, I forgot that Monday was Monday until today, Thursday. Yes, Music Monday is late. Again.

I didn't quite know what song to use this week: there were too many options to have a definite choice. I ended up on Oh My God, by Jars of Clay. A few years ago, my uncle, who recently died of pancreatic cancer, gave me the Good Monsters album by Jars of Clay. It was Christmas 2008, the year his cancer was discovered, and at the time, I was too immature to truly appreciate the album. In fact, I was afraid to listen to Oh My God because the lyrics seemed so sacrilegious to me. I listened to the flashier songs without even understanding the lyrics.

I've been increasingly frustrated with CCM recently because of its complete inability to face the brokenness that's inherent in this world. But this album is ... different. And I can't explain it. Just go listen to it, and you can start with

Oh My God, by Jars of Clay

Oh my God, look around this place,
Your fingers reach around the bone,
you set the break and set the tone
For flights of grace, and future falls
In present pain all fools say, "Oh my God."

Oh my God, why are we so afraid?
we make it worse when we don't bleed,
there is no cure for our disease.
Turn a phrase and rise again,
or fake your death and only tell your closest friends,
Oh My God.

Oh my God, can I complain?
You take away my firm belief and graft my soul upon your grief.
Weddings, boats, and alibis,
All drift away, and a mother cries...

Liars and fools, sons and failures, theives will always say..
Lost and found, ailing wanderers, healers always say..
Whores and angels, men with problems, leavers always say..
Broken hearted, separated, orphans always say..
War creators, racial haters, preachers always say..
Distant fathers, fallen warriors, givers always say..
Pilgrim saints, lonely widows, users always say..
Fearful mothers, watchful doubters, Saviors always say..

Sometimes I can not forgive
and these days mercy cuts so deep,
If the world was how it should be, maybe I could get some sleep.
While I lay, I'd dream we're better, scales were gone and faces lighter,
When we wake we hate our brother, we still move to hurt each other,
Sometimes I can close my eyes and all the fear the keeps me silent,
Falls below my heavy breathing, what makes me so badly bent?
We all have a chance to murder, we all have the need for wonder.
We still want to be reminded that the pain is worth the plunder.

Sometimes when I lose my grip, I wonder what to make of heaven,
All the times I thought to reach up, all the times I had to give up.
Babies underneath their beds, in hospitals that cannot treat them.
All the wounds that money causes, all the comforts of cathedrals,
All the cries of thirsty children, this is our inheritance,
All the rage of watching mothers, this is our greatest offense
Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God.

Prelude 12/21

2010-10-25T13:16:00.000-07:00

This week's is brought to you by my growing frustration. I've chosen Prelude 12/21 by AFI because it really does express some of my feelings recently. Especially the last verse, but that's a matter for my journal, not my blog. ;)

Besides being expressive of my current mood, Prelude 12/21 also has some pretty iconic melody lines. Every once in a while, there's a song that just captures something in the melody, and it seems as if you've heard the song before. That's how it is with this song.

Prelude 12/21, by AFI

This is what I brought you, this you can keep.
This is what I brought, you may forget me.
I promise to depart, just promise one thing.
Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.

This is what I brought you, this you can keep.
This is what I brought, you may forget me.
I promise you my heart just promise to sing.
Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.

Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.

This is what I thought, I thought you’d need me.
This is what I thought, so think me naive
I'd promised you a heart, you'd promise to keep.
Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.

`Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.`

In Denial

2010-10-24T22:48:00.000-07:00

I was talking with a friend the other day about another friend. You could call it gossip, but I wouldn't for two simple reasons. First, we were talking about how my friend interacts with her friend, and second, it wasn't in any way negative about the friend's friend.

If you understand that, good for you. I'm not sure if I do myself.

Anyways, we were talking, and the subject of denial was brought up. Maybe it's because I've been in denial myself recently, or maybe because we were talking about it so recently, but I've been thinking about denial a lot.

This is how I figure it. Denial is not acknowledging that a problem exists, but in order for someone to be in denial, there needs to be a problem. It can be one you've observed for yourself, or it could be brought to your attention by someone else. But it has to exist, and the issue has to have been raised for denial to occur. Otherwise, it's just oblivion.

Did that make sense? I'll try it again.

Say someone has the problem of being an obsessive, compulsive neat freak, to the point of alienating others. Oblivion is when this OCD person doesn't realize that the neat freakiness of his or her personality is driving others away. Denial is when the person has realized for themselves or had it presented to them as the reason they have no friends. Capische?

Denial doesn't say "there is no problem." Denial says "this may be a problem, but I really don't want it to be." It's cowardly, in a way. Rather than confronting issues and challenges head-on, a person in denial subscribes to the ostriches' philosophy: If I don't see it, it doesn't exist. Denial is complacency, comfortableness with the status quo.

Well, sticking your head in the ground doesn't solve anything. And to be quite frank, the world is changing every second. The Future is being converted into the Past as the present rips away Now before we know it. Peter Pan is the hero most to be pitied, for he can never change who he is. And denying that a problem exist denies changes which are omnipresent.

Denial isn't oblivion. It's a choice; a conscious, active choice to ignore the state of the world around you. And if I indulge that decision, I'm no better than a traitor to reality.

B

Dreams, by EA Poe

2010-10-20T06:41:00.001-07:00

Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
'Twere better than the cold reality
Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
But should it be- that dream eternally
Continuing- as dreams have been to me
In my young boyhood- should it thus be given,
'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright
I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light
And loveliness,- have left my very heart
In climes of my imagining, apart
From mine own home, with beings that have been
Of mine own thought- what more could I have seen?
'Twas once- and only once- and the wild hour
From my remembrance shall not pass- some power
Or spell had bound me- 'twas the chilly wind
Came o'er me in the night, and left behind
Its image on my spirit- or the moon
Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
Too coldly- or the stars- howe'er it was
That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass.

I have been happy, tho' in a dream.
I have been happy- and I love the theme:
Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality, which brings
To the delirious eye, more lovely things
Of Paradise and Love- and all our own!
Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.

2010-10-18T22:42:00.000-07:00

I can assure this was going to be a scintillating look into my psyche. But it won't come out. I've run out of words to describe things now. So you'll have to bear with me as I bang on this keyboard, trying to make sense of it all.

First of, I should apologize to you, my reader, for turning this blog into little more than a vaguely worded personal journal. That was not my intent. When you have something you want to tell someone but cannot tell anyone, everyone is forced to deal with it. You've been subjected to far more navel-gazing than ever permissible. And if you've stuck through it, I am both humbled and penitent.

As for the reasons behind all this frustration and angst, I can't go into that. You're probably thinking something about the state of my sanity, and whatever it is, I'd probably agree.

Gah. I don't know.

I just don't have the words. They've gone. Shriveled. Disappeared. And with it, any hope of mine to explain to anyone anything that's going on with me. There's so much I could say, but won't. And that leaves very little of anything else.

Worse still, I owe it to a few people to tell them something inexpressible. What do I do? Walk up and drown these acquaintances with a torrent of words, emotions and problems they could care less about? That's not going to happen. Even if I were a thousand times worse, I wouldn't forget that other people exist and have their own problems.

The question still remains. What can I do about it? Nothing. All I can do is hope to weather this, that this too shall pass, and that I'll last longer than the ones I need to be strong for.

And if this post lasts past tomorrow, I shall be most surprised.
B, wordless

Winterborn

2010-10-18T12:20:00.000-07:00

 After much rumination, the song I've chosen today is Winterborn, by the Cruxshadows. I've been reading Beowulf

recently, and this song reminds me a whole lot of Beowulf's final battle. A dragon starts ravaging

Beowulf's land, so he and his soldiers go to stop it. Beowulf is fatally injured, his soldiers run away, and

finally there is one young man left to help him slay the dragon. After the dragon dies, so does Beowulf.

Don't ask me how that applies to this song. But it makes sense to me. Actually, wait. I think I know the

connection now. It's because both Beowulf's death and this song outline classic ideals of heroism.

But without further ado,

Winterborn, by the Cruxshadows

Dry your eyes and quietly bear this pain with pride
For heaven shall remember the silent and the brave
And promise me they will never see, the fear within our eyes
(my eyes are closed)
We will give strength to those who still remain

So bury fear, for fate draws near
And hide the signs of pain
With noble acts, the bravest souls
Endure the heart's remains
Discard regret, that in this debt
A better world is made
That children of a newer day might remember
And avoid our fate

(I've waited all day in the pouring rain, but nobody came, no, nobody came)

And in the fury of this darkest hour
We will be your light
You've asked me for my sacrifice
And I am Winter born
Without denying, a faith is come
That I have never known
I hear the angels call my name
And I am Winter born

Hold your head up high-for there is no greater love
Think of the faces of the people you defend
(you defend)
And promise me, they will never see the tears within our eyes
(my eyes are closed)
Although we are men, with mortal sins, angels never cry

So bury fear, for fate draws near
And hide the signs of pain
With noble acts, the bravest souls
Endure the heart's remains
Discard regret, that in this debt
A better world is made
That children of a newer day might remember
And avoid our fate

And in the fury of this darkest hour
We will be your light
You've asked me for my sacrifice
And I am Winter born
Without denying, a faith in God
That I have never known
I hear the angels call my name
And I am Winter born

And in the fury of this darkest hour
I will be your light
A lifetime for this destiny
For I am Winter born
And in this moment..I will not run
It is my place to stand
We few shall carry hope
Within our bloodied hands
(bloodied hands)
And in our Dying, we're more alive-than we have ever been
I've lived for these few seconds
For I am Winter born

And in the fury of this darkest hour
We will be the light
You've asked me for my sacrifice
And I am Winter born
Without denying, a faith in man
That I have never known
I hear the angels call my name
And I am Winter born

Within this moment now
I am for you, though better men have failed
I will give my life for love
For I am Winter born
And in my dying
I'm more alive, than I have ever been
I will make this sacrifice
For I am Winter born

B, who apologizes for the wonky formatting

Snippet

2010-10-13T22:11:00.001-07:00

I like it when a lot of my friends are green on gmail chat, not because I can talk to them, but because the green light reminds me that they exist.

If I Ever Leave This World Alive

2010-10-11T12:41:00.000-07:00

Well, I was looking through my archives of Music Mondays, and realized I hadn't introduced Flogging Molly, one of my favorite bands of all time. The only way to describe Flogging Molly is as an Irish-American Celtic punk band. They're brilliant.

So today, let me tell you about If I Ever Leave This World Alive, by Flogging Molly. Yes, the video is a Dr. Who fan vid. Deal with it.

*ahem* Well, If I Ever Leave This World Alive follows in the vein of a previous song, I Am Stretched On Your Grave. It's sweet, slightly morbid, and definitely something I want played at my funeral. It's also upbeat, pretty hopeful, and has a delicious little non-sequitur involved.

So without further ado,
If I Ever Leave This World Alive

If I ever leave this world alive
I'll thank for all the things you did in my life
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll come back down and sit beside your
feet tonight
Wherever I am you'll always be
More than just a memory
If I ever leave this world alive

If I ever leave this world alive
I'll take on all the sadness
That I left behind
If I ever leave this world alive
The madness that you feel will soon subside
So in a word don't shed a tear
I'll be here when it all gets weird
If I ever leave this world alive

So when in doubt just call my name
Just before you go insane
If I ever leave this world
Hey I may never leave this world
But if I ever leave this world alive

She says I'm okay; I'm alright,
Though you have gone from my life
You said that it would,
Now everything should be all right

She says I'm okay; I'm alright,
Though you have gone from my life
You said that it would,
Now everything should be all right
Yeah should be alright

painted ship upon a painted ocean

2010-10-09T16:14:00.000-07:00

I feel like the Ancient Mariner. I'm on a ship, drifting in the doldrums with no crew but the dead bodies of my compatriots, no water, no food, and no hope of salvation in sight. Water like witch's oil, slimy creatures crawling with slimy legs upon the slimy sea, and no other souls in the area. Just me and God.

When I was little, my favorite book began: "I see the moon, and the moon sees me. Does anyone know I'm alone here at sea?" The clues are all there, if one cared to look. But no one has, and I don't blame them. It's easier to mind your own business than to be caught up in what is not your concern. Everyone has a clue, but no one has cared to put them together.

Tomorrow, my friend Toothpick is getting married. A lot of her bridesmaids are my good friends, back from college, and naively, I thought things would be the same. Wrong. They've moved on to quarters and classes and roommates and floor parties and crazy professors, and I've been left behind. Granted, I did see this coming, but "I told you so" never solved anything. The same feeling of shyness and aloneness has invaded the relationships I have with the few people I trust. No, I'd never bring up confidences in the middle of Toothpick's bachelorette party, but I had hoped that I'd see something, anything, that would show that the friendship is not just withering. Wrong again.

The same feeling of aloneness, shyness, quiet resignation from my stranger-friends is also found around the people I'd previously called mates. Now I'm just confused, and I don't know exactly what to do. I've told these friends things I wouldn't have had I known they'd moved on this much. My fault, not theirs. I don't blame them. I guess the only thing to do is not trust them with more confidences. I don't know.

"Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.

The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie;
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I."

B

Paranoia

2010-10-07T22:58:00.000-07:00

For a couple weeks, I've been a little concerned about friendships. More specificially, how I feel around my friends.

I'm the type of person who questions everything - and I mean everything - before doing anything. Before saying anything. I examine my motives, my opinions, my hopes, anything that could affect my decision very closely before taking action.

Imagine my surprise and discomfort, then, when I discovered the following fact: I was feeling oddly around my guy-friends, and whatever this unidentified feeling was, it was strongly influencing my actions. Now that's an embarrassing realization.

Let me explain why: I don't take actions without knowing why I'm doing them. Now, I've got an emotional memory going back to 2005, when I was 12. By emotional memory, I mean, I can recognize emotions I've had since that time.

I haven't felt whatever it is I'm feeling for as long as I can remember. For a while, my working theory was that it was what people commonly call "a crush." Problem being, I haven't had a crush since my *ahem* boy-crazy days (circa 2003-2004), so I wouldn't know one if it introduced itself with a handshake. I hoped it wasn't, but I couldn't know. "Crush" seemed the only option.

That is, until I realized that I felt the same way around pretty much all my friends left here in Washington. Including the gal-friends. If the feeling is a "crush," I really don't like the implication.

So it can't be a crush. I won't allow it. Then I got to thinking. This feeling is remarkably similar to my first day of co-op, my first day of choir, my first day of speech club. In other words, the closest match I have is shyness.

This new implication, while still upsetting, is nonetheless less disturbing than being attracted to all my friends.

...

But still. Shyness? really? I'm shy around the only people I can call friends who I still physically interact with every week? I'm shy around the two guys I spent over 70 hours with this summer? I'm shy around my duo-partner, Calvin? Around girls I paged with? Around people I call my friends?

And yet, I still treat them as strangers. Are they friends of necessity?

How can I call people my friends if they don't know me, and I don't know them?

I don't know. I just really, don't know.

B

Paradox

2010-09-29T21:03:00.000-07:00

***PARADOX: Bad people do good things***

If any of you are like me, you've heard words to this effect in the past. Or at least, heard statements that, when added together, form this conclusion.

But if you are like me, then you probably haven't thought about it too much. Well, I didn't, until the past couple of days.

So here's the thing: Us humans love categorizing each other.

Us and Them
Normal and Different
Introvert and Extrovert

Well, you get the idea. We classify each other. And one of the most time-honored labels is the moral label: Good People vs. Bad People.

We see it all the way into the dawn of history - the people we like are "good," the people we don't are "bad." And with the bad ones, we have nothing in common. Nothing they do are things we approve of.

Now, I'm all for a black and white view of morality: Some actions are inherently good, some actions are inherently evil. But things get a little grey when we get to classifying people as "good" and "evil." It's the human element.

See, I believe that people are inherently bad. If given a choice of admitting you broke the lamp or denying all knowledge of the lamp's existence, a person in their natural, non-religious, non-moral state will deny the lamp's very existence.

We're all bad. Even Ghandi. Even Mother Theresa. Especially Barack Obama.

*ahem* This is Problematic's editor. The political opinions expressed in this blog post are the sole opinions of Problematic's, not the publishing staff. This includes but is not limited to the fingers, the keyboard, the eyes, and lastly, the editor.

Like I said. Every single person on this earth is naturally going to choose to do the wrong thing. This is where it gets interesting. See, humans don't exist alone without any sort of morality. Look around your world. Churchs, synagogues, mosques, kingdom halls, meditation centers - they all jostle for position in the minds of the pious.

Humans are moral creatures. With the exception of a few atheists who don't believe in them (but still act on them), we can see those inherent morals. What are they? As a Christian, I believe God gave me and you a conscience, to remind us of what is right and what is wrong. But we can argue about that later.

The point is, religions have sprouted throughout the world, teaching of right thought, of right living as they go. And with religion comes the distinctions.

Us and Them
Enlightened and Pagan
Right and Wrong
Good and Bad

Anyone who thinks differently than me is automatically branded with those labels: Different, Pagan, Wrong, Bad - specific words don't matter but the sentiment that remains is the same. He's not One Of Us. Because someone who is One Of Us is good. They think like us, they believe like us.

But that doesn't make us More Good. We're all such awful, stinking, disgusting, slimy, gross, disturbing examples of humanity that a little religion isn't going to do anything about it.

Even Christians. Our "religion" won't save us. Just because we don't drink alcohol or date or chew tobacco or follow any of the legalistic trappings the church has put on us as a prerequisite for knowing God doesn't make us more holy, more justified, More Good than anyone else. We're all in for it, and being a Lutheran or a Seventh-Day Adventist won't save you.

So how does this fit in with the paradox?

***PARADOX: Bad people do good things***

Let's take an example. Say, one of the terrorists who helped fly a plane into the World Trade Centers on 11 September, 2001. (Yes, yes, terribly American-centric, but tough. I live in America.)

Now, what he did was wrong, evil. Taking the lives of almost 3,000 people is completely evil. And the man himself, he was evil.

Just like me. Just like you.

But that doesn't mean every action he took was evil. His family - he may have loved them dearly. He gave alms to the poor. He did good things, but his final act was an act of evil. This is an extreme example, I know. But it applies to many, many more people than we feel comfortable admitting.

And this is where things get sticky. These labels that we arbitrarily stick on others, they don't like shades of grey. Either you're one of Us, or you're one of Them. With us or Against us.

But as beings with great capacity for evil, we also have capacity for good. We have shades of grey.

***PARADOX: Bad people do good things.***

You will not live a perfect life. You'll never even come close. One good action may not make you a good person, but it is good, it is right, it is noble, honorable, self-sacrificial, nonetheless.

Think on that one for a while.
B

Jar of Hearts

2010-09-27T11:43:00.000-07:00

It's high time I started doing these again. They're enjoyable for me: I do not know, nor care if my beloved readers could care less.

Let me introduce you to this song called Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri. The lovely Grey and delightful Ophelia introduced me to this song last week, and I have highly enjoyed it. Although, I have a confession to make: when I first heard that song, I immediately thought of one of my friends who is a guy. My second thought was "Problematic, don't be so uncharitable."

I really enjoy this song because of the resolve evident in the lyrics. In a lot of songs about failed romance, the lyrics are sappy, come to no conclusion, and waffle about the singer's love like a girl picking petals off of a daisy. Not so with Jar of Hearts. The speaker concludes "so don't come back for me. Don't come back at all" without sounding mad or extremely grumpy. It's resolved.

The second, greater reason I like this song is because the lyrics are superbly written. I won't spoil it for you, but the images and ideas that Perri conjures up in just a few words are brilliant. If I could be half of a songwriter as she, I would count myself lucky.

Ladies and Gents, without further ado:

Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri

No I can’t take one more step towards you
Cause all that’s waiting is regret
And don’t you know I’m not your ghost anymore
You lost the love I loved the most

I learned to live half alive
And now you want me one more time

And who do you think you are
Running around leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
So don’t come back for me
Who do you think you are

I hear you're asking all around
If I am anywhere to be found
But I have grown too strong
To ever fall back in your arms

I learned to live half alive
And now you want me one more time

And who do you think you are
Running around leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
So don’t come back for me
Who do you think you are

And it took so long just to feel alright
Remember how to put back the light in my eyes
I wish I would have missed the first time that we kissed
Cause you broke all your promises
And now you're back
You don’t get to get me back

And who do you think you are
Running around leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
Don’t come back for me
Don’t come back at all

And who do you think you are
Running around leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
Don’t come back for me
Don’t come back at all

Who do you think you are
Who do you think you are
Who do you think you are