The Hazards of Love 4

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Dance!

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

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

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

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

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

B

Problematic's Rules of Living, part 2

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

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

B

New Header

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

Your life may continue as normal.

B

Results

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

Peace,
B

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

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

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

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

B

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

LOVE <3

freedom

wisdom

joy

Honor

courage

strive

fight

armor

justice

Knight

Lady

Art

virtue

peace

Act

gentle

HOPE

CHRIST 

learn

LOVE

LOVE

Friendship

grace

trust

truth

melody

Art is Beauty

together

peace

quiet

lady

patince

honesty

lies

faith

CREATE

LOVE

real

genuine

true

joy

goodness

kind

truth

Soul

knight

happiness

Music

LOVE

flame

fire

burn

hot

fear

destruction

raze

rubble

rocks

sleep

despair

Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep

quiet

death

peace

cold

slumber

quiet

quiet

LOVE

Mercy

sacrifice

preserve

redeem

savior

mighty

live

survive

create

warm

eternity

forever

always

life

good

quiet

coffee

milk

tea

And then on the back:

Ever Dream

Remember Me

My eyes are dry

For the Heart I'll never Have

tears

rescue

Find Me

HOPE

fallen angel

death before dishonor

Music is Life

drums in the deep

listen

the music plays

music in the blood

DRUMS

hear them playing

pounding

ringing

watch

the sobs of the violins wound my heart

watch

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

free air hugs for everyone!

B

Persuasive

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

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

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

B

Classical Music

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

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

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

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

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

B

I am Stretched on Your Grave

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

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



I am Stretched on Your Grave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Defenestration

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

B

Tournament Time!

Let the tournament season hereby begin!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

B

Music Catalogs

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

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

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

Excited

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

Definitions

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

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


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


Is everyone ghoul with this? Awesome.

B

Friends, cont

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

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

B

Erm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

B

Wondering Where the Lions Are

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


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

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

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

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


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

Young men marching, helmets shining in the sun,
Polished as precise like the brain behind the gun
(Should be!) they got me thinking about eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me
 
And I'm wondering where the lions are...
I'm wondering where the lions are...


Freighters on the nod on the surface of the bay
One of these days we're going to sail away,
going to sail into eternity
some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me
 
And I'm wondering where the lions are...
I'm wondering where the lions are...

Tag

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

B

Moon Dance

"All that you touch
All that you see
All that you taste
All you feel
All that you love
All that you hate
All you distrust
All you save
All that you give
All that you deal
All that you buy
Beg, borrow or steal
All you create
All you destroy
All that you do
All that you say
All that you eat
Everyone you meet
All that you slight
Everyone you fight
All that is now
All that is gone
All that's to come
And everything under the sun is in tune
But the sun is eclipsed by the moon."
Eclipse, the Dark Side of the Moon, Pink Floyd


I believe, in the most literal sense that I am a lunatic. Not mad. Not insane. Not crazy. No, I am a lunatic: affected by the moon.

Last night, I had the opportunity to walk in the dead of night. Nothing stirred as my companion and I made our solitary way on the streets. It was cold and cloudless. Wisps of fog drifted across cars, lawns, roads, houses, blanketing all in the oblivion of night. But above, the moon kept vigil over the sleeping neighborhoods. It hung in the sky, exactly as it has for thousands of years.

This was the moon that shone on Moses, on Alexander the Great, Aristotle, Plato and Socrates, on Cicero. It rejoiced with creation the night Emmanuel was born. It watched Caesar Augustus, Leonardo da Vinci, Christopher Columbus, Magellan, Shakespeare, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, E.A. Poe, Picasso, and so many others pass short existences on this planet we call home.

It has inspired dreamers and conquerors; it has guarded lovers and plotters; it has illuminated philosophers and astronomers. It is the direct connection between us and the past. We have all lived under its gaze, oblivious to the heritage it represents. From the dynasties of China to the monarchies of Africa and Europe to the democracies of today, the moon is the common denominator. Billions of people have looked upon it with wonder, awe, curiosity, and found inspiration. We are just the newest in the long line of lunatics.

If this legacy isn't overwhelming, you, my friend, are in sad shape. Frankly, the idea that the moon under which I have lived my life has seen billions of lives pass like dust fills me with awe.

Are you a lunatic? I am.

B

[insert evil laughter here]

Yesterday, my extemporaneous club met with high hopes, lofty goals, and reams of paper to file. Yup, we were going to have a filing party if it killed us. And since it had been weeks since we'd met, everyone had many, many articles to file. Alas, our productive dreams were shattered. Alright, so we did end up filing all of those pesky articles, but on the way, we made many redundant unnecessary files (...sorry :P), had many instances of context fail, and generally tried to misinterpret everything being said to the most awkward degree. I blame it all on Calvin.

During the course of the afternoon, we discovered someone *coughcoughCalvincoughcough* had an affinity for the whole Honduras politics thing going on. We also discovered that we needed a file for 'weird people' such as the Salahis, Balloon Boy, and President Obama. Said file has now been christened the stupid people file.

Some of my favorite context fails (and wins):

"I'm in favor of the Chinese method of execution: a shot to the head. " "Ah, technology!!" <--- This being said by Jedi Gerbil, who had just found the technology folder laying about in the rubble.


It just occurred to me that the rest, taken out of context, sound completely wrong. So I shall stop there for the dignity of my extemp club.

Anways, there are five speakers in club: Jedi Gerbil, Barrelfighter, Calvin, Mrs. Incredible, and your humble narrator. We decided that since there are five exposed sides on the file box, each of us will decorate one side to our hearts content. But that wasn't enough. No, we'd write our own fictional biographies. And then someone (I forget who) decided to write another persons' biography.

Imagine my glee when I was assigned to write the fictional biography of Calvin, someone I know, literally, nothing about. Mwahahaha... This is going to be fun.

Now, if you'll excuse, I must dream up a nefarious past for my extemporaneous compatriot. ;)

B

Apology

Alright. Apology. Yay! Yesterday, I posted about the song Stand Up, by Fireflight. And someone commented on it. That is not so unusual of itself, but the comment and the commenter were. It was a fairly innocuous post, saying only "hello" with about fourteen million ellipses after it. On closer inspection, however, each period linked to a different mature-content website. Yes, I have officially been spammed. The comment has since been deleted and the commenter blocked. For any of you who discovered it before I got to it, my apologies. It makes me deeply unhappy that someone decided to use my (personal) blog as a spreader of filth.

B

Introductions All Around!!

Hi. I'd like you to meet my latest plot bunny. His name is Musical Monday. His one goal in life is to talk about a song or artist that I particularly like once a week, on Monday. Everyone friendly? Good. Let the party begin.

I love Pandora.  It's a free internet radio station that you can customize. For instance, if I put the song "Nemo" into it, it will create a radio station that only plays songs similar to Nemo. You can then add more songs and groom the station to your preference. Imagine my delight when my symphonic metal radio station gave my "Stand Up" by Fireflight.

Fireflight is a Christian band that often edges into the metal side of rock. I must admit, recently I've been rather disappointed with Christian music because of its stereotypical lyrics and (even worse) its low musical artistry. I was surprised by "Stand Up" as soon as I heard it. It states that it's alright to have darker emotions as a non/Christian, a sentiment which is not usually found in CCM.

 Stand Up, by Fireflight.
"Look at all the lonely hearts
Shivering out in the dark
Hiding from the truth
Cover up the proof
Demons that I've tried to hide
Imprison me in my own lies
And all that I can do is cover up the proof
Don't be afraid to...

Stand up!
Stand up if you're broken
Stand up!
Stand up if you feel ashamed
You are not alone when you hurt this way
Stand up!
Stand up if you need love
Stand up!
This is not judgment day
You don't have to hide
There's no need to run
Everything will be okay

Secrets got me torn apart
Trying to destroy my heart
But I can see the light
It's cutting through the night
Don't run away
(Don't run away)
Don't be afraid to...

You say You love me
That's all I'll ever need
If You say I'm good enough
That's good enough for me."

[insert eyeroll here]

After much quiet contemplation, it has been determined that 'normal' compliments are boring.  I was re-reading my journal yesterday, and realized that the only ones I remember are the odd ones. Some of my favorites include:

"You're creepy cute. Like a girl from a Japanese horror film."

"You've got a face that could explode a thousand missiles." Thanks, I think.

"I love the way you talk. It's so squeaky!"

And finally, "Now I know why I keep you around: self-esteem." Glad to help, o my friend. ;)

Have you ever heard/received a weird compliment?

B

Merry Christmas!

As I write this, cries of "Look! A Large Ham!" resound through the house. It is my own dear brother carrying on a time honored tradition of hamming up the holidays. It started a few days ago, and likely will continue for a few more. I was working on a heartwarming Christmas gift post for my friends, serenaded by such hammy comments, when my email reloaded and I found an email from my friend Cassandra. Inside was a heartwarming Christmas gift for her friends. Which happened to be the same thing I've been working on. Bother.

Being the rather contrary person I am, this new development made me seriously consider not publishing this. After all, I can pride myself on *not* following trends. But then I reminded myself: I've been working on this for a couple days, so I may just as well publish it. Therefore, I present my heartwarming Christmas gift post for my friends:

In alphabetical order:

Bracie - Some days at church, I wonder if I'm not related to you. Unbiological sisters, almost. I like the sound of that.Whether it's singing "Holding out for a Hero" at the top of our voices while cleaning the sanctuary, or giggling over some new source of hilarity, or having serious discussions about capital punishment, we always seem to jive. But probably what I appreciate most about you is that you're gentle, and a lady of quality. That's a hard trait to find these days. It makes you even more beautiful because of it. Outer beauty + Inner beauty = Bracie, a dear, kindred spirit.

Cassandra - It's been said that the eyes are the window to the soul. One look at your eyes, Cassandra, and anyone can tell you have your heart in the right place. Seriously. While we've only spent much time together in the past month since Thanksgiving (:P) , I have really appreciated earning your friendship. You have a sense of humor that is mild, but funny, and your smile is always rewarding. ;)

Dory - How do you describe a problem like my Dory? With lots of Monk, caffeine, and impromptu harp caterwauling. And by the way, the caterwauling does not refer to your talent on the beautiful instrument. . It's incredible what we've gone through - from non-percolating coffee to late night Monk marathons, to mouthing off in choir. To adults, you're a sweet, gentle, kind girl, but I - I know the real you. Yes, you're sweet, gentle, and kind, but you've also got a killer sense of humor, amazing musical talent, and a certain affinity for officers. And yes, you do look like a Celtic Shield Maiden. It's on the record now. ;) Live long and prosper, my friend.

Escapist -Every once in a while, we meet people with whom it is easy to relate. You are one of them. As Cassandra put it, quite aptly, you are a "brother in Christ."  You are witty, intelligent, considerate, and pretty awesome. Not to mention imaginative. :P It's easy to talk with you, though it sometimes ranges well into goth-talk. But hey, if you didn't have goth elements, you'd be a very different person indeed. I appreciate your friendship. Thank you.

Jedi Gerbil - I've known you for the last two feet. What has it been, seven years? You were the first homeschooler I ever knew, and that's a good thing. Your sense of humor is amazingly dry, and your wit flows with such panache it's astounding. I can still remember that time we talked about cold fusion for what - 45 minutes? - just to bore our eavesdroppers. While those fun discussions were, well, fun, our serious talks have never failed to show another, more thoughtful side to you. You're a great philosopher, diplomat, and more importantly, a friend. This year, let's practice being extroverts, neh?

Keilah - Let's face it: You're gorgeous - inside and out. I have to admit, you've been a role model for me. Whenever I talk to you, you inspire me with your heart for homemaking, be it cooking, looking after your little siblings, and generally being a Proverbs 31 woman. Your gentle wit and earnest heart are evident in any area you are found, even when cooking for a bunch of 'savages' at a Productive Fellowships. I hope to know you so much better this time next year, and I look forward to continuing our friendship.

Libby - Libby, let's redeem Converse together! You are a ton of fun to be around. From teaching me the basics of football from an opposing team, to wandering the halls of the CMS, we've had some interesting times together. And, of course, the obligatory raves about Chucks. You are ingenious, always coming up with clever, creative, and imaginative ideas and topics. And your paintings really are beautifully introspective.Your art is a true reflection of yourself: introspective, clever, brilliant, and beautiful. Rock on, Libby.

NtropyNcarnate - Bonkers. Batty. Brilliant. Beautiful. Oh, and amazing, alliterative, polyglottal and precious. Melon head, es lusus naturae. Whether you plot in study hall, or run up and down hallways chasing invisible aliens, or sit and translate the Grinchus, or watch Dark Musicals with me, I enjoy every minute of it. And those cookies? Nom nom nom... Your melodramatic, musical, and memorable musings on subjects from Latin horror movies to auto care and linguistics always make my day. And I'm thankful for every minute of our Latin classes, all five years of them.

Ophelia - How exactly does one approach describing Ophelia? There's a certain dash of whimsy, a certain dash of romanticism, and a large dash of fun involved. Cartwheeling at church, having snowball fights, and discussing the relative merits of various female singers, are all memories I've shared with you. You're beautiful, inside and out. You're fun, interesting, smart, and imaginative. I've so enjoyed getting to know you this year. It seems like I've known you forever.

Peach - Peach, you're amazing. You're creative, musical, funny, and pretty awesome to be around. From downing eggnog like whiskey to "Hi, I'm Awkward" conversations, we've had some interesting times. I enjoy how easy you are to talk too, as well as your wisdom. You're beautiful, inside and out. I hope I can see more of you this upcoming year.

Pipsqueak - Pipsqueak, my dear little Hobbit, you're hilarious.You really are. You're teasable, you're lovable, you're hang-out-able, and generally, personable. You're beautiful, Asian (Ow, don't kill me!), and very fun to be around. I love hanging out with you in Biology, and I can't wait for New Year's! Your beautiful personality and smile will be the first thing anyone notices, just asl long as you don't tell them about your love of German Shepherds, leather boots, jacket, and German. Whoops. No, no the pillow! Ouch!

Qwip - I remember when I first joined NCFCA, I saw you at a National Open, and I thought "Wow, that's one of the cool people." Little did I guess that three years later, I'd count you among my close friends. You really have a passion for the ludicrous, and that makes any interactions with you quite interesting. Actually, I really enjoy conversations with you because they can quite literally swing in any direction. You're interesting, clever, considerate, and entertaining (and handsome ;P). Take your pick as to which adjective you prefer.

Specs - Ah Specs, Specs, Specs. You, my friend, are an anamoly - in the best of ways, of course. I can quite honestly say that I know no other conservative, Christian actress who is perfectly at home in front of an audience and groups of hyperactive teenaged speakers. You're someone I've known forever, though that's only been five years. You're stunningly gorgeous, inside and out, and your dry sarcasm compliments your speech. Truly your speech is seasoned with salt. I'd even go so far as to say that you are "as shrewd as a serpent, and as gentle as a dove." Got to love that, right?

Unexpected Song - You're logical, beautiful, unique, well-read, and simply lovely. Whether you're owning the Apologetics event or discussing late night gal topics, you come off as a thoughtful individual. You always provide important and interesting insights, and I value your trust and friendship. It's such a pity we don't see each other often this year, and I look forward to spending time with you this upcoming year. May the light of Heaven shine on your path.

Maybe tomorrow I'll post about what my family did. But for tonight, that's all.

~~MERRY CHRISTMAS!!~~

B

Sick

On 31 October, Seattle policeman Timothy Brenton was killed while sitting in a police car, debriefing a trainee officer. The trainee, Britt Sweeney, escaped with minor wounds to her head and back. The suspected murderer is now in custody.

On 29 November, nearly a month after Timothy Brenton's death, four officers from Lakewood, WA, were targeted in an unrelated attack. Sergeant Mark Renninger, and Officers Ronald Owens, Tina Griswold, and Greg Richards all died at the scene. Only Officer Richards was able to respond, shooting gunman Maurice Clemmons in the stomach before dying. Maurice Clemmons is now dead.

And finally, 21 December, two Sheriff deputies responded to a domestic-violence call in Pierce County. Upon entering the house, a man in the upstairs opened fire on them. They responded, but received many wounds. The man who had let the officers in, and a teenage girl barricaded themselves in a room with the deputies, called 911, and started First Aid. One deputy is in critical condition; the other, stable. The killer is dead.

In a little under 60 days, five police officers have been killed, three wounded. These killings are so surprising, in part, because Washington has not been known for violence toward law enforcers. It's sickening. Please keep the officers and their families in your prayers.

*big grin*

Haha! I was just told that I was as unpredictable as a bumblebee. It's most gratifying to know I've kept some of my pre-teen design features. =D

100 posts, wow!

As the title would suggest, this is my 100th post. I seem to have reached the second 50 far faster than I reached the first. *toddles to check records* Indee-de-dee-de-dee-de-dee-dee-dee-do! It took me nine months to get to 50 posts, and two-point-five months to accumulate the second fifty. Wow. And no, I'm not sugar happy, I'm just thinking faster than you.

Actually, I wasn't planning on gloating about my *astonishing* post record. I can happily do that for you in the comments. I was going to tell you about a song. A very important. Or not. But I like it. A lot. So you should too. Maybe. Ish. I feel an odd tingling in my brain. The coffee's affecting me. But I like it.

.. Ahem.  Anyways, about six months ago, I rediscovered a Monty Python song. Specifically, I rediscovered "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life."  For the few of you who haven't heard it, it's a very happy-go-lucky tune, even including whistling (!), with incredibly morbid lyrics. It's the best example of Lyrical Dissonance I've found in a while. The lyrics are so brilliant, it's hard to choose which verses to highlight...

Here. I think I may have found the best part.

"For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your scene - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.

So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath

Life's a piece of ****
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you."

Unfortunately, there's a mild obscenity in the last (posted) chorus. :( But certainly, this song has helped shake my melodramatic, self-important mood from the summer, because, let's face it, the best teaching song is one with a catchy tune and important/interesting lyrics. 

This song, I believe, is a very good way to celebrate my 100th post. 

B, who is singing about the bright side of life, and who really needs to step away from the coffee pot.

Yesterday

"Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. Now it seems as if they're here to stay... Oh, I believe in yesterday."

Actually, no... Wait. What am I talking about?

Yesterday, I discovered something: I have finally gained the teenagers' love of sleep. There have been countless articles, studies, and other various forms of adult-inflicted torture examining and explaining that teenagers sleep a lot because they need the sleep. However, for the first four years of my teenagish existence, I didn't really sleep any more than usual. However, since the day I turned 16, I have found myself craving the sweet touch of unconsciousness every night. Now, this may seem a weird discovery to make on a whim, so I shall explain why I finally realized this.

Yesterday morning, I was going to meet a couple friends from speech to discuss speech stuff. For this purpose, I rolled out of bed at 9:30 and trundled off to the meeting place by 10:30. Well, most of the party was there, but for the exception of lovely Lady Specs. She had had a drama rehearsal on Friday night, and her parents decided not to interfere in her sleep schedule yesterday morning. So it was that my companion and I received a call at 10:30 from Specs saying she'd "just woken up." We waited for a half hour, making un/succesful attempts at small talk, and during this interlude, I realized just how precious sleep was to me. I really do like it. So there.

After the speech meeting, which ran a half-hour late because it started a half-hour late, I toddled off to my friend NtropyNcarnate's house for some Latin translating "fun". Our text? "Quomodo Invidiosulus Nomine Grinchus Christi Natalem Abrogaverit." Yup. We got to translate "In what way our envious little friend named the Grinch stole the birth of Christ." The funny thing is that the Latin version is nothing like the original Dr. Seuss book. Well, it took Ntropy and I a full hour and a half to get through this creative Latin text - by "creative Latin" I mean giving five different nouns for "noise," and four different verbs for "sing". But after the long translating ordeal, we still had an hour for Christmas cookies!

I love decorating Christmas cookies. Just thought I'd say that. Anyways, we had quite good fun. Here's some of my favorite cookies we made:

This one was Megan's. His smile came out a little crooked, so he looks like he's sneering.

This is one of mine. I was trying for the teapot lady from Beauty and the Beast, but it kind of turned out looking like Jack from Halloween Town turned into a teapot. Or just a skullish teapot.

Also mine. *guilty*. I kind of thought he looked like whats-his-face from the Lion King. You know, the creepy monkey guy. Either that, or he's a juvenile criminal bear whose had his face censored and pixelated for privacy.

These are most of the cookies from when we were done. You can tell Ntropy's cookies because they look artistic. She did the snowman in the lower right corner; the angel  just below the center; the green and red candy cane; the tree and the bear near the green and red candy cane; the smiling bell in the top right corner, and a few others. Mine, however, are the angel of many colors, the brown candy cane on the right edge; as well as the flamey colored bell and the butterfly above the bell that looks more like a blob of red and purple sprinkles; and pretty much all of the ones that looked like a mad toddler's play station.

However, this one has to be my favorite one I made yesterday.

I am ashamed to say that I used tweezers to get this angel to resemble a vaguely humanoid thing.  Glory and wonder at its amazing goriness.

This was Ntropy's reaction to my bloody angel.  Of course, she was just in awe at my enormous creativity. She had a very funny idea of continuing the idea of gory cookies, but I have censored that part of this post for my more sensitive readers. *wink*

And then it was home for more and more schoolwork. This was accomplished with much yawning and longing for my deliciously warm, dim, room. Lovely. On the plus side, I did get a persuasive letter finished yesterday, which I might post tonight/tomorrow.

B

... Don't you just love long, boring posts about what I did yesterday? I do. :)

... And yes, I am in an exceptionally unusual state of mind. I just thought up another story thingymajig. 

Friends

These past few weeks, I've had a couple imaginary friends following me around. They're not mine - I don't recognize them, or even know their names. But for lack of better monikers, I've called these two Snuffles and Chuckles.

If you've lost a badger with a penchant for melodrama or a psycho clown, please comment below. They are starting to get annoying. But they have been useful - don't get me wrong. I started a club for imaginary friends. If your imaginary friend would like to attend, please have them comment with name, species, and temperament below, and I'll have Snuffles contact them for the first meeting.

B

Peter

 For today's post, I present you a short story I wrote recently about Peter Pan. If you have any comments on how the current ending could be improved, I'd greatly appreciate them.



When Luke woke up, he was in a clean, white place. He vaguely remembered being in a place like this. He had seen a little boy sleeping in a big bed, but he couldn’t remember when.  But this place wasn’t like the other. It was bright and cold, and Luke was alone. Luke shivered. There were no humming monsters; just cold, clean, white walls.
But then Peter came. He was dressed in green, red, yellow and orange leaves, like the ones in stories, and when he turned a somersault, Luke just knew it was Peter. He giggled at the other boy’s antics.
“Where are we, Peter?”
Peter cocked his head. “You’re right here. And I found you! Isn’t that clever?” He grimaced, and it wasn’t so cold anymore.
“But Peter, how did I get here?”
“Does it really matter? We’re going somewhere else now,” Peter said carelessly.
“Really, Peter? What is it like?” Luke moved closer, mouth open in anticipation. Peter grinned.
“Well, there are people and everyone’s happy and nobody is afraid. And it’s warm and bright, and it’s wonderful!” Peter started hopping on one foot. “Come on, let’s go!”
Luke tried imitating Peter, with little success. But before he could tumble off balance, Peter grabbed his hand, and they set off.
“Peter, tell me again!” Luke fairly danced.
As Peter expounded on their destination, the boys walked through many rooms of unchanging white. But now the rooms were replaced by a long hallway. Doors lined the walls, and in the dim lighting, they could see pictures hanging on each door. Looking back, Luke couldn’t tell which they had come through; he shivered, but Peter moved on. Trotting to keep up with the bigger boy, Luke glanced at the pictures on the wall.  They passed countless pictures, but certain ones captured Luke’s attention.
He tugged at Peter’s hand, who stopped for the younger boy. There on the wall, a beautiful woman and a smiling man looked at a fuzzy bundle held in the woman’s arms.  Luke stood, entranced, unable to look away. Peter gently moved Luke into motion, drawing him down the hall. They passed more pictures. Sometimes, the beautiful woman gazed down on the boys, and sometimes it was the smiling man. However, in all, a little boy with brown hair and green eyes chortled. There, in that one, he took his first step. Farther on, he used a tricycle. Over there, his father gives a piggy-back ride to an enthusiastic cowboy, and in another, a big black dog guards the sleeping child.
The tunnel grew dark, and intermittent lights shone on the pictures. Sometimes, the walls were dark for hundreds of paces. Peter passed them without comment, pausing only to bring Luke along when he gazed for too long. Finally, the lights went out, and only the sound of footsteps invaded the deathly quiet.
Peter felt the hand in his tremble, just slightly, and he broke into a little ditty, humming and skipping to distract his charge.
“Peter, I’m scared. Tell me again.” Luke’s clear voice broke the song. Peter glanced down, and then knelt beside the child.
“Hey Luke, you know a secret? I can do magic.” Luke’s eyes grew larger in the darkness. “Now, if you shut your eyes really tight and count to ten, a light will go on.”
Sure enough, when Luke opened his eyes, a pool of light gathered ahead, illuminating part of the wall.
Luke couldn’t get to the light quickly enough, but as he approached the edge of the puddle, he hesitated. On the wall were three photographs; no doors accompanied the pictures, and they waited, forlorn, for Luke to examine them. He looked back at Peter, who stepped into the light and nodded encouragingly. Luke cautiously approached the picture, but ran the final steps, eager to see the little boy again.
But this picture was different. A wrecked car, tumbled off the road, was barely visible in the swarm of flashing lights, and beacons lit the scene with a red glow. Cars whirred past as the little boy was wheeled into an ambulance. The smiling man stared into space, clutching the boy’s jacket in trembling hands. Firemen were dragging the beautiful, battered woman from the car, while medics readied a stretcher nearby. Luke took this in at once, and recoiled. He grabbed Peter’s hand, and tugged to go back into the darkness, willing to endure darkness rather than see the other pictures. Peter gently turned him around.
“Hey, Luke. It’s alright.” He grinned reassuringly at the small child, and whispered. “Only two others.”
Luke reluctantly turned to the second picture.
The green-eyed boy was sleeping on a bed much too big for him. His room was grey in the darkness, but Luke could see machines surrounding the bed. He touched the little boy’s face. It was half-covered by bandages, but Luke still recognized it.
Luke closed his eyes, and took a big breath. He sighed, and then looked at the picture. Little was different: The boy in the large bed still slept, but a sheet had been drawn over his head, and the lights glared down on the man and the woman. Luke’s green eyes widened as the picture began moving. A nurse entered. She started talking to the parents kneeling by the bed. They exited the room, and the nurse shut lights. Luke stared hard, and did not notice Peter step behind him, gazing at the little boy with an indescribable emotion.  As the lights in the little room shut off, the puddle of light in the hall disappeared, and the tunnel grew dark again.
Luke jumped. It suddenly was very cold. Two strong hands grabbed Luke’s shoulders. Luke could feel warmth and vitality leaking from those hands, and Peter’s voice spoke near his ear.
“Luke, we’re almost there.”
“Peter, I’m scared!” Luke’s voice trembled like a leaf.
“I know, Luke. But it’s an adventure. Now, see that light in front of you?” Sure enough, a pale glow filled the end of the hall in front of the boys. It was far away, but it was there.
“Luke, you need to walk toward that light. I’ll be behind you, but don’t turn around. You got that? I’ll be right behind you, but you mustn’t look.”
“Peter.” The little green-eyed boy pleaded with his voice. He shook.
“Shh, it’s alright. That light is the place I told you about. It’s warm and everyone’s happy there. Just like I told you.” Peter hugged Luke, wrapping him tightly in warmth. He straightened, and pushed Luke toward the light.
“Are you sure you can’t come with me, Peter?”
“No, but I’ll watch you. You won’t get lost.”
“Good bye, Peter.” Luke walked slowly toward the end of the hall, where he could see an open door, inviting him in. Quicker and quicker, his feet hit the ground. He could feel the warmth now, embracing him like a comforter. He broke into a run, pushing the door open, and disappeared inside.
~*~
Peter Pan watched as Luke entered the door, and then departed himself. Peter didn’t take many things seriously, but this was one of them. He’d been lost, once, many years ago, but no one had helped him find his way home. But Luke had found Never Neverland now, and for now, that was all that mattered.

No Fear

Two weeks was Thanksgiving. I know, pretty obvious, but some of my friends have been known to live off-planet. (Woah, my odd mood has continued another day. Great. .-.) Anyways, we had a family from speech over to celebrate with us, which was tons of fun. Because all of the kids, not including mine own dear brother, were speechies, the evening's entertainment naturally turned to giving speeches. Specifically, impromptu speeches. Being the lazy and egotistical person I am, today's post is my modified impromptu speech from that night. Read it and weep. Or not. Shutting up now...

You may or may not know this, but I participate in a competitive speech and debate association. Now, every year, before the start of the competitive season, speakers must choose which topics to write on, and which pieces of literature to interpret. A few years ago, I was considering Socrates Meets Jesus by Peter Kreeft to interpret. In the book, Socrates, after drinking the cup of hemlock in Ancient Greece, wakes up in the library at Have It University, in Camp Rich, Massachusetts.  He confronts the modern god of Progress, and along the way, tackles the quote "We have nothing to fear but fear itself," the famous quote of Franklin D. Roosevelt.

On first glance, this quote is good rhetoric. It's inspiring, uplifting, challenging. It tells fearful humans to take control, get over their fears, suck it up and do something. It says that fear is our only enemy, that fear disables us, that it controls us. It's good rhetoric, plain and simple. It's also completely wrong.

I believe there are things to be afraid of. I believe there are issues important enough to spend nights worrying over them.  And I believe that the concept of fear is not one of them.  Try telling a new mother that she should not worry about her new infant catching SIDS, or that it will hurt itself terribly. Try telling her that she shouldn't fear for her child, that she should only fear the fear within. It's ridiculous! Care for others and concern for their well-being is one of the emotions that makes us uniquely human!

And don't get me started on the corollaries. We have nothing to love but love itself! We have nothing to hate but hate itself! We have nothing to care for but caring itself! I'm sure the young bride is happy to know that the love of her future husband is irrational. Are we to only hate hate, and nothing else? Can we not hate those who threaten our loved ones? How can we only care about the concept of concern? Fear, love, hate, care - these are all glorious gifts from God, who gave us the ability to feel. To experience. To emote.  But we cannot emote towards emotions. That destroys the whole purpose of emotions. Human emotions must be expressed toward specifics, or they become animalian. Humans have the gift of expressing exactly what we emote - we fear the man who brings death to children, we love the one who protects us, we care for those around us. But fearing fear, loving love, hating hate, helping help - emoting towards undefined, abstract emotions fetters us. In effect, it destroys our ability to sympathize, empathize, save, help, and protect others.And this cannot happen.

There are things to fear, just as there are things to love. There are people to revile, just as there are people to care for. But there is no justification for fearing an abstract emotion. And because I believe that our emotions are a glorious gift, I cannot agree with Franklin D. Roosevelt's empty rhetoric when he asserted that "We have nothing to fear but fear itself."

Insincerity

I realized something a few days ago. Insincerity bothers me - not the people, at least, not really. It's the physical act of being insincere. This realization troubled me as well, because I realized that sometimes I come across as insincere. But I think I may have finally figured this out.

People lie every time they say something they don't mean. It may be something small, perhaps saying the dress looks marvelous when really it's hideous, or pretending to be a friend. It's a lie, plain and simple. Thinking one thing and saying/doing another is hypocrisy. But the hypocrisy isn't what bothers me. If I know someone is being insincere, I don't care that they've told a lie; I care that they deceived another.

Wait, wait, wait a second... Isn't telling a lie and deceiving someone the same thing? I would submit that they are two different things. When you tell a lie, people may or may not believe it. But deceiving another, masking ones' true intentions, is completely different. You've added yet another mask on top of the ones you already wear.

Yes, it's the deception that bothers me. Letting another person believe that you really are a nice person, that you care, that you're 'best friends forever', those actions affect more than just the insincere friend. Imagine what happens when the one being deceived finds out you don't really care; that you were a fair-weather "friend"; that you were just there for kicks and giggles. That's got to hurt.  It's not the lie that hurts, it's that the person would try to deceive.

The victim of insincerity may not even know what hit them. Suddenly, the best friend one could want sweeps into their lives, and it's lovely. It's the ones who really need sincerity, warmth, and friendship that are hurt by insincerity. The ones desperate for others to care who are wounded. And it's these emotionally needy people who are often the easiest to dupe of them all.

That's what bothers me: The deception. And what troubles me even more? That the capacity for such duplicity is inside every single one of us, and we don't even care.

B

Problematic's Owners Guide and Maintenance Manual

Congratulations on your purchase of the SBM model from SBM&FRIENDS. There is a lifetime guarantee on all parts included, some restrictions apply.
             
NOTE: The following instructions are for trouble-shooting purposes only. Should anything happen not specified or hinted at in the owner’s manual, contact manufacturers IMMEDIATELY.

MANUFACTURERS: Rainy City Productions, WA




TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS:

SBM (aka “SABAM”, “PROBLEMATIC”, ‘SAM”, “SYLVIA”)

TYPE: Human (female)

PRODUCTION RUN: 9 September, 19XX

HEIGHT: 5’5

WEIGHT: Unspecified



INSTALLATION: Due to the fragile nature of SBM, a special package tracking system is used to update you to their arrival date. Two days before, carefully inspect your house. If there are items you wouldn’t wish a psychotic sociopath to get a hold of, be sure to store them away, as SBM can and will use them.



IDENTIFYING: When the package arrives, do not be alarmed if the contents have settled. This is to be expected. To help with introductions, we have provided a positive identification system.

SBM, upon arrival, will probably say “I’m not a sociopath. I’m an artist!”

If SBM is in her SYLVIA setting, she will say “I can’t trust you to do anything alright.”

NOTE: If SBM is in the SYLVIA setting upon arrival, do not upset her.

ACCESSORIES: All your SBM&FRIENDS come with general accessories, including but not limited to make up, hydrochloric acids, and notebooks. Specific models have special accessories.


SBM:
1.    Large violin case and violin
2.    Messenger bag and writing materials
3.    Converse
4.    iPod
5.    Black cat (BUTTERCUP)
6.    Sabre
7.    Fencing boots
8.    3D Goggles




STORAGE: SBM will be fine with any accommodations you may find for her. Be certain it is not an area you mind changes to. Whatever requests she makes in the first three days are guaranteed harmless. After a few days of intense activity, SBM will have transformed her quarters into an artist’s niche. Do not disturb her during this process. When she is done, the room will be hazardous to outsiders over extended periods of time, so it is best just to leave well enough alone. If you should happen to glance inside, don’t be disturbed by the dark furnishings – it is simply SBM’s way of catalyzing her creative processes.




USER PREFERENCES: Your SBM comes with 4 interactive settings.

             
HOSTILE –  SBM will be caustically sarcastic and icy. Tirades and monologues or silence accompany. SBM will revert to HOSTILE when disturbed from an ARTSY setting.
             
FRIENDLY – Will smile and joke, depending on familiarity with near-by models.
             
MELANCHOLY – Standard setting. Expect wit, sarcasm, and disturbing and/or creepy aphorisms in this mode. SBM will produce most of her artwork in this setting.
             
PYSCHOTIC - SBM’s backup setting. Wild hilarity at nothing in particular is to be expected.

             
NOTE: SBM will revert to PYSCHOTIC if left in FRIENDLY for too long.
              SYLVIA – Rainy City Productions is not quite certain what this function does. It shows up in all SBM models, and seems to be accompanied by skinny jeans, haute couture, and an alternate ego.

UNIQUE SETTINGS: Due to the nature of her relationship with other SBM&FRIENDS models, SBM can be triggered into unique settings.

              ARSTY –   SBM can be forced into this mood by placing her in groups with KK, SPECS, and ASH models from the &FRIENDS expansion pack. SBM will oscillate between frantically talking, thinking, and creating. If no KK, SPECS, or ASH models are present, setting her iPod to the ‘soft’ playlist works with less effective results.
             
GREGARIOUS –  Any expansion model will put SBM into this setting. Tends to talk and smile more often.
             
AWESOME – SPECS, NTOPY, and THURS models or other models with similar dispositions will make SBM revert to this setting. Accompanied by much dancing to music and wishing for adventures.
                            WARNING:  Under no circumstances give SBM a weapon when she is on this setting. She is extremely dangerous. Rainy City Productions is not responsible for any damage done by such action.
             
TIRED – Any &FRIENDS model combination will change SBM is she stays around them for long, especially the QWIP model. This setting is particularly entertaining if SBM is TIRED in the midst of FRIENDLY members of the expansion pack.
             
DEPRESSED – If SBM stays in HOSTILE for long amounts of time, she will revert to DEPRESSED, or if the &FRIENDS expansion pack is suddenly removed. Owners should try to change her setting as quickly as possible.
                            NOTE: SBM will stay in this setting for long amounts of time after an ARTSY setting. This is normal, but try not to encourage her.

ROMANTIC – This setting has only been triggered once, on accident, and any attempts on the owner’s part to trigger ROMANTIC will be strongly denounced. Rainy City Productions is not responsible for any injury SBM may inflict on you after trying to change her setting to this.


OPERATING PROCEDURE: Your SBM has been programmed to fulfill many roles around the house. The roles she excels in are:

HOME DECORATOR

As you are soon to discover, SBM has an artistic streak. Give her the proper funds and equipment and she will transform your house into a haven. As long as you do nothing to seriously upset her, the result will be quite nice.

SPORTS

SBM is quite fond of sports such as soccer, track, and dancing. If you need an extra player, or are short a partner, she will be happy to help, provided no models decide to tackle her.

CHILDCARE

SBM has been certified through organizations as a babysitter complete with CPR and FIRST AID training. However, her odd sense of humor may make a more appropriate choice for older children. Rainy City Productions is not responsible for the counseling bills of any child left in her care.

MUSICIAN

While SBM is a very musical person, she views her music as deeply personal. She makes a great entertainer when she feels like it, but unless SBM volunteers to do so, any effort to make her play will be foiled.

MAITENANCE

CLEANING:

SBM is perfectly capable of cleaning herself, though she may disappear for an hour at a time and emerge from her room wearing a completely different style. Fear not. This is only part of her continuing quest to define her style.

Once every few months, you will need to take SBM to a hair stylist, as she cannot drive.

RECHARGING:

FOOD – SBM is partially vegetarian, so be certain to provide her with plenty of fruits and proteins. She will need to take supplements in the form of vitamins and specialty foods.

              NOTE: SBM is particularly fond of Nutella.

DRINK
SBM is made of 60% water, so allow healthy consumption of water and juices. Liberal amounts of caffeine are allowed when SBM needs an energy lift.

              WARNING: Whatever she may say, SBM should not have more than three (3) shots of espresso in one day. If you thought she was bad before the espresso, you have no desire to see her afterwards.

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS:

Q. Where can I purchase the &FRIENDS extension pack?

A. Go to http://problematicraining.blogspot.com to find the expansion pack to the SBM model. It will be published shortly.

Q.  My SBM is shaking all over. Is this a problem?

A. The SBM model likely has consumed too much caffeine on an empty stomach. Either that, or she is in a hilarious mood. She’ll get over it eventually.

Q. My SBM seems to be loosing skin a lot. What’s going on?

A. SBM was manufactured with unique skin. Don’t worry, just supply her with lots of Cortizone cream.

Q. My SBM is awkward and uncoordinated. What am I doing wrong?

A. You SBM is manufactured to be awkward and uncoordinated. No harm is done unless she breaks a bone.

Q. My SBM keeps hurting her feet. What’s up?

A. That is a selling point of the SBM model.




TROUBLESHOOTING

PROBLEM: You SBM is refusing to come out of her room.

SOLUTION: Stock many action/adventure, sci-fi and fantasy books, movies, and comics outside her room. She’ll snap out of it eventually.

PROBLEM: SBM keeps taking walks in the rain. She frequently returns shivering and wet, then catches a cold.

SOLUTION: Point SBM in the direction of the nearest park with a shelter. She’ll sit and journal for the hour she’s gone, and come back considerably drier.

PROBLEM: SBM has been singing ‘Holding Out For a Hero’ for days and will not stop.

SOLUTION: SBM is suffering from wanderlust. Supply her with a credit card and she’ll find an adventure for herself. SBM will return in a few days.

PROBLEM: SBM is talking in gibberish.

SOLUTION: SBM is probably talking in techno-babble, music-babble, or Zulph. Purchase a model with similar linguistic skills and she’ll return to normal.

PROBLEM: SBM keeps wearing oddly captioned t-shirts and converse.

SOLUTION: There is no solution. This quirk is part of what makes SBM a collectable model.

WARRANTY:

Due to SBM’s fickle nature, Rainy City Productions only offers a three year guarantee. Afterwards, SBM is likely to disappear, leaving only with the promise of “You’ll hear about me soon enough.”

NOTE: On the occasion that SBM does not disappear entirely, don’t try to contact her. SBM will contact you on her own time.

FINAL NOTE:

When SBM returns, she’ll have changed for the better, but SBM will still be the same model at heart. You will receive many years of friendship from this good investment.

Stress

I do believe life is like an old-fashioned test tube. If you put the wrong combination of chemicals inside, or subject it to too many temperature oscillations, or even set it down funny, the shallow glass called sanity will break.

Adventure

I must say, the timing for today was exquisite. I was still in the throws of recklessness, wishing for an adventure, when one came to me.

Today, I went to Coop B to hang out at lunch. Things were perfectly normal, but as I walked Lady Specs to her class, we were suddenly transported through a time-vortex into a semi-dimension. We accidentally altered one part of this not-quite-alternate world, but when we found the vortex shift manipulator and pulled the psychic switch, we found nothing wrong with the world. However, when I went to find my faithful companion, NtropyNcarnate, I discovered that the alteration I had made in the semi-dimension had let the foul scum, Qwztlctoal, through into this universe. I could not find Ntropy anywhere, so I proceeded to scour the building for her, avoiding the aliens on my way.  The odd thing was, all the helpless humans could not see the Qwztlctoal at all, but they could see my duck-and-cover manovuers, leading to some hurried interviews as to "why I was being so juvenile".

Finally, I found Ntropy. She could see the devouring scourge of the universe, and agreed that something must be done before they devoured humanity. Already, students were disappearing into their magnificent gullets. And so, Ntropy and I swept through the building like avenging time travelers of doom, and saved the universe. All the thanks we got were the disapproving looks of unimaginative pre-teens, but I would do anything to save this unique race.

B

Hehehe

So today, I had a doctor's appointment. As part of my routine visit, they threw in an experimental teen survey to 'accurately assess' their patients 'medical needs.'

As a matter of necessity, utterly invasive questions were asked. I find it a matter of pride that emoticons are going to be on my medical record. Mwhahaha!