Music Tuesday?

I must apologize for the lateness of this post. Ideally speaking, music Monday ought to come on, you know, Monday. I shall explain why it did not.

Yesterday, Mom, Dad, and I drove to Olympia to meet the family who would host me during my week paging. We were gone five hours, and the rest of the day was spent preparing for Grey, Ophelia, and Gabby's visit tomorrow, and debate club.

Today, I'll introduce you to a rather happy little song: Rollerskate, by Matias Aguayo. When I first heard it, I literally got vertigo. Also, I love the acapella voices in the background. I can't find any lyrics, so just listen and enjoy!

St. Valentine's Day

Ahh, St. Valentine's Day, also known as Single's Awareness Day. The day we dedicate to the concept of love. Honestly, I've had a hard time relating to St. Valentine's day.

At this point,  I must offer a caveat for all my male readers: The following post is decidedly for ladies, and as such, you'll find precious little to relate to. ;) You have been warned.

You know, I've been thinking about what happens on St. Valentine's Day for a couple weeks now. Ideally, you'll open the door to find your love standing on the threshold with flowers, reservations for dinner, and a pair of tickets to a romantic comedy. Or something like that. St. Valentine's Day is, after all, the holiday for items. But think about it: the Saint's day is just one more stigma for girls to date, court, or prematurely give away their emotions. We've got enough pressure to be alluring, attractive stumbling blocks for our guy friends, without having an entire holiday dedicated to True Love.

I got an email from a girlfriend of mine today, detailing her plans for the evening with her recently acquired boyfriend. Now, don't get me wrong - I appreciated the good will implied in the salutation that I would "find love soon," but still, I'm sixteen. I don't need to worry about courtship or other vaguely matrimonial type topics. And frankly, every time I see girls my age prematurely giving their hearts away, I cry for them.

Last year, I went goth for St. Valentine's Day. This year, I did something more important. Yup, I prayed for the gentlemen in my acquaintance and friendship. I prayed that they would look to God for guidance in their relationships, and I prayed that God would help me be a sister for them, and not a stumbling block. And I challenge all of you to do it this week, with me. God calls us to treat our male friends as brothers in Christ. I don't know about you, but my birth brother gets my support all the time: why shouldn't my male friends not get it as well?

And for any guy readers who have made it this far, no comment is necessary.

B

Grab Bag 2

Wow. Life has been happening at such a velocity that I once again find myself in need of a grab bag of assorted topics. I rather hope it slows down after next week.

So, let's work this in reverse chronological order. Next week there is another tournament, in which I shall be competing in five speech events and debate. Scary, right? Well, it's even scarier because I haven't finished writing one of the speeches, and I need to memorize another.

Because of the tournament, I went judge recruiting yesterday at Coop A. I talked to about 20 adults, and got at least one confirmed recruit, if not more. I spent almost the entire lunch hour, plus half and hour after lunch selling the NCFCA. But I was quite exhausted afterwards.

I've also started getting expressions of love from various colleges. I got four pieces of physical fan mail yesterday, and all week, my inbox has been flooded with emails from various colleges (some of which I've never heard of) expressing interest in my mind. The funny thing about it, though, is that they're not addressed to me: these letters, emails, and pamphlets are all addressed to some Arab girl that has a name roughly like mine. As far as I can tell, the PSAT I took last year got my name wrong, or couldn't read my handwriting, or something, because everything I've gotten from them hasn't been addressed to me. So someone's created an alter-ego for me, and I haven't even got a say in it. Oh well, I might use this new ego in a story someday.

Well, last night, I went to St. John's Cathedral in Seattle for their "Great Music in Great Cathedrals" program. It was absolutely amazing. Before it started, though, I got to go up behind their giant pipe organ, and look at all the air supply equipment. The amazing thing about it was that most of the equipment (including the bellows) was made out of wood. You could hear the air moving through the system, too.  The entire time I was up there, the overture from Phantom was playing in my mind. It was most salubrious.

I also recruited judges at Coop B on Wednesday, but because my Rhetoric class got out late, I arrived ten minutes after people had started recruiting, leaving very few parents interested in hearing my spiel.

On Tuesday, I finished the translation of Ovid's account of Orpheus and Eurydice, a feat which I am very proud of. After all, Latin poetry is like Latin, only worse. I have less-than-fond memories of a particular sentence that spanned eight lines, and word order/matching entirely ignored. That sentence took me a good 30 minutes to piece together. >:|

Also on Tuesday, I once again kidnapped Lady Specs before speech club, leaving myself in charge of waiting for our speech coach to show up. I don't know what drives me to do it - it's not like club particularly likes me anyways. I'm too sarcastic, and not nearly enthusiastic enough. But what Lady Specs doesn't know won't kill her, right?

After spiritual classics on Monday, Mom drove me home, and once again, the man on the corner was trying to signal to passengers. This time, though, he appeared to be saying that eating them would make them handsome, strong, and acrobats. I believe he's taking his job a little too seriously.

Last Friday there was an extemp filing party. It was there that I learned that Mrs. Incredible will be paging at the WA State Senate the same week I am. Most exciting. As extemp is wont to do, we discussed current events, filed, and generally made fun of each other.

A week previous to this Tuesday, Calvin generously gave me a online profile which he, Hobbes, Escapist, and Johnny wrote on the way down to a tournament the weekend before. It certainly was amusing in a 'let's not go there again' sort of way, if that makes sense. And no, I won't be posting it online. I humiliate myself enough on this blog; I don't need someone else to do it for me. In exchange for the only copy of this profile, I agreed to write the biography of Calvin, which I am almost done with. It's rather turned into a police report or mental hospital report, but that suits him better, anyways. Another perk of mine is that it is less noticeably awkward, though I'm slightly worried about how Calvin will receive it: I don't exactly hesitate in my more kritiky remarks. :P

Now, for the past week, I've been struck by a mild cold, which seems to have graduated to medium this morning. I hope that if I get sick now, I'll be better by next Thursday. Ach, Murphy'll probably make certain I am sick through the awards ceremony, but who knows?

Finally, I've got a couple of prayer requests for any willing prayer buddies: Last week, my uncle told his daughter that he was dying, and since then, things have been pretty rough for the extended family. My mom is looking to fly back there soon, but she's had two false starts already. The second is that I'll finish and memorize my speeches in time for the tournament next week. I've got a huge load of school work currently, which raises doubts as to if I'll get them done.

Speaking of school work,
B

[expression of amusement]

My readers may have noticed that I have a geo-traffic map on my sidebar, where you can tell where in the world my blog has been accessed by. I was browsing it today, and much to my amusement, I found the tag "Beirut, Beyrouth hit It's Raining." It cracked me up.

Did I just label myself as a history nerd? I hope not.

B

Chew on this

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

~John Donne

Same Diff

So after speech last night, Dad and I took Escapist, Hobbes, and M home. In the car, Hobbes said something that got me thinking. We were talking about arguments. Apparently, I'm better to argue with than Lady Specs, and Hobbes postulated that this was because I was in debate. He said that the few arguments I'd had with him were far more reasonable than the ones he'd had with Lady Specs.

This rather confused me, for in my recollection, I had never argued with him. When I asked him to explain what arguments we'd had, Hobbes reminded me of two separate conversations: one about the incessant 'free will/determinism' debate that seems to suck the life blood out of all homeschool Christian conversations; the other, about vegetarianism and omnivores.

And this is where I started thinking. Hobbes, obviously, viewed those conversations as arguments. My memory, however, was of two discussions. So is there a difference? How can one participant have an argument, but the other have a discussion? And how come a 'friendly argument' is easier to have 'with a debater' than with someone else?

I'm not certain, but I think it all boils down to the mindset you approach the conversation with. From past observations, the people who have arguments are so passionate in their beliefs that any attack on the beliefs is seen as an attack on the person themselves. I know in both conversations with Hobbes, he vigorously defended his position. But so did I. So what made the conversation experience different for us?

Thinking about it, now, I think I've hit it. I go into a conversation disassociating my beliefs with myself. I've learned from debate that just because someone attacks my assertions doesn't mean they attack me. The implication, therefore, is that an argument arises when two people, so passionate that their identities depend on their beliefs disagree. A discussion would then be a conversation where the two people uphold their arguments without viewing them as part of their identities.

Hmm. Interesting. I shall have to think on this more.

Do you have any thoughts?
B

Victoriam Speramus

 Krypteria is a metal group from Germany. The amazing thing with this group is that it combines the goth element of Latin lyrics with symphonic metals' sweeping backdrops. Victoriam Speramus was the first song of their that I ran across. It is most beautiful.

Victoriam Speramus


When all the lights go down
And when the final curtain falls
When there is nothing left to say

Eternity eventually will linger
Through abandoned halls
And leave us dark in disarray

The time has come for us
To almost serve the new day
Go down on bended knees and pray:

Victoriam speramus
Cantate tibi itam!
Concordiam optamus
Iuvate liberatem!

Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus nunc

One man’s piece of might
Might me another man’s despair
In these so enigmatic times

When some pray for redemptions
I hope they redeem themselve through prayer
To reach this all, this is your life (?)

The time has come for us
To almost serve the new day
Go down on bended knees and pray:

Victoriam speramus
Cantate tibi itam!
Concordiam optamus
Iuvate liberatem!

Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus nunc

The time has come for us
To almost serve the new day
Go down on bended knees and pray:

Victoriam speramus
Cantate tibi itam!
Concordiam optamus
Iuvate liberatem!

Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus
Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus nunc

Venture

Last August, I joined a new Venture Crew as one of the required non-Boy Scout members. Since then, I've accepted the job of secretary for the crew. For those of you who don't know, Venture is affiliated with the Boy Scouts, except it is co-ed and covers older teens through age 21.

My crew is kind of funny. It's made mostly of Boy Scouts, with a couple girls who come on occasion. However, the girls view Thursday nights (the night we meet) as their night-off, so the past few meetings I've been the only girl present. Last meeting, I was asked if I was 'frightened by all the macho boys' by one of the advisers, and my first reaction was to snicker. Compared the the guys in speech club, the Boy Scouts are - not angels, but certainly a lot less awkward.

One of the advantages of being the unequipped newbie in the crew (relatively speaking, since I'm also a Girl Scout) is that there's opportunities for hand-me-downs. And this is the point of my post. The first meeting after Christmas, one of the crew came in with a spare uniform. Our crew decided on the official shirts, but aren't picky about the rest of the stuff. So anyways, one of the guys had bought a shirt that didn't fit for some reason, but as looking to pass it off to someone. And since I'm the new one, I went home with a men's medium green tent.

In all fairness, it isn't too bad. I mean, put a big belt around the waist, and it makes a cute dress. Without the belt, it's a sack. Here's a cartoon of what it looks like:

This, meanwhile, is how it should look:

Random post, right? Well, I'd stay and comment, but I've got some minutes to type.

B

Wood

"I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good.." - For Good, from Wicked

I happen to agree with the song. Actually, I've been thinking about this lately, and I think I've hit on a very proper analogy. The only problem is, I'll sound terribly sentimental explaining it. But I'll give it a shot, anyways.

So, our hearts are rather like blocks of plain wood. We start our earthly journeys with a completely unfinished block, and as we meet, greet, brush past - interact - with other travelers, we start handing these blocks off. A sort of 'guest artist' deal, if you will.

I get your block for a time, and you get mine. We both have the opportunity to carve a little on the wood in our hands. Maybe you'll add your initials to my block, maybe I'll shave off a little curl. Ideally, at the end of our lives, the people we know will have lovingly carved a statue out of the original block.

Unfortunately, this is not always the case. Sometimes, I gouge holes in your block, accidentally or on purpose, it doesn't matter. I've just defaced your wood, made it incomplete, hurt it deeply. The people with these gashes in their hearts get nervous. They don't want the wood defaced like that again, so they just avoid handing the wood over. They clutch it close, never trusting others with it again.

But then again, there are other people, with wood glue, and sandpaper. They fill the gouges, they smooth away the splinters and beaten edges left by destruction. And pretty soon, the injured block doesn't look so bad. The holes, the gashes; they're still there, but they're less important now. They're faults that let the real beauty of the growing statue shine through. They are there, but they don't dominate.

It sounds so pretentious, doesn't it? But still, it's interesting to meditate on. Certainly, after thinking about this for a few months, I've been more careful with how I use my tools.

B

Igor

For your reading pleasure, I present you a transcript of tonight's Happy Hour. You see, tonight I :ahem: returned to my roots.

Problematic: Hey, Mom! I've got arms!
Mom: [nonplussed]
Problematic: You know what you do with arms?
Mom: What?
Problematic: Hugs! Free Hugs!!! [tackles Mom]

Problematic: Hey, Dad! I've got arms!
Dad: Why is it that when I've got work to do, all the bugs come out of the woodwork?
Problematic: [hangs on Dad] Hey, I like cheese!
Dad: Yes, squirt, I know.
Problematic: [sings] I like cheese, I like cheese, I like cheese.
Dad: Who put a quarter in her?
Problematic:[turns to Mom, rasps] I like cheese.
Mom: Trees?
Problematic: [croaks] I like trees. Do you like trees? 'Cause I like them. A lot. Do you like trees?
Dad: [Getting out Peanut Butter] Good thing you live in the Pacific Northwest.
Problematic:[galumphes to Dad] I like trees. Do you? Trees are my friends. 

Dad: Hey,  come back!
Problematic: I like trees, I like trees a lot. Do you? You should.
Dad: [tries to smear Problematic's face with Peanut Butter]
Problematic: [Hanging on Dad] Igor likes peanut butter too. Igor likes trees... and peanut butter... a lot! Do you like peanut butter? O-ho-ho... Peanutty buttery peanut butter. Igor likes a lot!
Dad: [going to living room] Weirdo.
Problematic: [Galumphing and scurrying towards Dad] Do you know why Igor likes peanut butter? Because peanut butter is nutty!
Dad: Like Igor!
Problematic: [chortles]O-ho-ho-ho. Very smart, funny man. Igor is nutty... Yes, yes, we are! Igor is a nut, just like... PEANUT BUTTER!!! And trees. Igor likes trees, too. Do you know why we like trees? Because trees are nutty, too!
Mom: Don't you mean woody?
Problematic: [bug-eyed] Igor always says what Igor means to say!
Dad: Didn't you say you liked cheese, originally?
Problematic: Of course, Igor likes cheese. Cheese. Is. Nutty! Nutty, just like Igor! And Trees! And Peanuuuuuutttt Buuuuuttterrrrr!!! [jumps around]


Preposterous B

Till Kingdom Come

Have you heard of Coldplay? Probably. I started listening to them about a year ago, which is a rather amusing and pathetic story of itself. But the point is, I liked them. When it comes to quiet rock, they're the first band I turn to. The funny thing about Coldplay - an 'alternative rock' group, as iTunes calls it - is that it attracts Christians like flies. For some reason, we've classified them in the group of 'Secular-Bands-We-Wish-And-Can-Almost-Imagine-Were-Christian.' Other bands like that include Linkin Park, Five For Fighting, and (of course) U2. I've got friends who say things like "I like Coldplay because it's almost Christian!"

I'm not one of those people. The argument that "the lyrics of the song express hope/redemption/ [other Christian theme here] so the songwriter must be a Christian" falls flat to me. A secular artist can express a Christian truth while still being a secular artist. I don't listen to Coldplay because I can imagine its lyrics are Christian. I listen to this particular band because many of its lyrics express truth about the world, and they express it well.

That being said, I particularly enjoy Till Kingdom Come. The interpretations are varied. I shan't offer one. However, one thing I appreciate about this song is that the music doesn't overwhelm the song's message.

"Still my heart and hold my tongue
I feel my time
My time has come
Let me in
Unlock the door
I never felt this way before

And the wheel just keeps on turning
The drummer begins to drum
I don’t know which way I’m going
I don’t know which way I’ve come

Hold my head inside your hands
I need someone who understands
I need someone, someone who hears
For you I’ve waited all these years

For you I’d wait 'til kingdom come
Until my day, my day is done
And say you'll come and set me free
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me

In your tears and in your blood
In your fire and in your flood
I hear you laugh, I heard you sing
I wouldn’t change a single thing
And the wheels just keep on turning
The drummers begin to drum
I don’t know which way I’m going
I don’t know what I’ve become

For you I’d wait 'til kingdom come
Until my days, my days are done
And say you'll come and set me free
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me"

A Grab Bag of Assorted Things

Rightyo. I believe the title is self-explanatory, so let's get started.

It's kind of creepy when a complete stranger motions that he'd like to eat you. What happened was this: Thursday was driving me home from a class this afternoon, and we'd pulled up to a major intersection. There was a guy holding a sign for some sort of food chain standing on the corner. Because Thurs and I were the first car at the intersection, this guy's attention was immediately drawn to our car. In the intervening three minutes, he repeatedly gestured at me, rubbed his belly, and then made a thumbs-up. At least, I think that's what happened. I lost my glasses this morning before class, so that's the general impression I got from him. He finally realized that threatening to eat me wasn't going to make Thurs change lanes, so he started doing acrobatics. Thurs applauded when he managed to balance the sign on his chin, completely ignoring his little sister's discomfort.  On the plus side, I now have added incentive to find my glasses again.

You may remember that I blogged a few weeks ago about sending in my application for the Washington State Senate Page Program. Well, on Friday I received my letter of acceptance from the State Secretary. Hoohoo! If I don't post for the week of March 1st, you now have a reason. Yes, I am very excited about it.

[fluid and witty transition here]

I hate breakfast. It might be because my own dear brother is a picky eater. For years, the only food he'd eat for breakfast was Grape Nuts, slathered with sugar. He ate them dry. Now, if you have any experience with Grape Nuts, you'll agree with me when I compare eating them dry to eating gravel and glass splinters with nothing to wash them down. And because I'm not as picky, I ate what he ate. As a result, I have an eternal loathing for breakfast food. I tut at toast, I choke on cereal - hot and cold -, I exclaim at eggs, and cinnamon rolls, bear claws, and other sweet pastries cause utter revulsion for me. I love breaking my fast in the morning, but I am far more likely to eat a sandwich or leftovers rather than breakfast food.

However, there is one cereal I like. It's not terribly healthy, but it isn't horrible either. And at the rate I'm eating it, I'll have very healthy cholesterol levels. Yup. I love Honey-Nut Cheerios. And Mom got a huge box of them last week. I am in bliss. I believe I've had a bowl every morning since then, which is saying something, considering I hate routine and get bored by habit.  So yes, I can have breakfasty breakfast, now.

I do believe that is all.

Good day!
B

Teenage Angst

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

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

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

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

B

Mmm, delicious

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

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

Guilty feeling's still not gone.

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

Oh, it's still delicious.

B

Concerning tournaments

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

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

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

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

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

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

'ta,
B

Return To Pooh Corner

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hair

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

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

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

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

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

B

Tournament

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

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

B

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!
BETTER HOLD ON TO YOUR HAT!


okay, I'm good.

Lusus Naturae

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

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

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


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

B

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"