As you might guess from the helpful and informative title of this post, today was a day of firsts for me. Shall I tell you about it in chronological order? I think I shall.
Today was the first day my family has spent in Washington DC since arriving here. The previous days we've been at the estates of now-deceased presidents (see previous posts for clarification), but today my family went into the DC, onto the Mall.
That brings me to the second first of today. Until today, I had never rode on a train before, but we took the Metro Subway into the city rather than driving. The Metro was interesting. In my immediate area, there was a young man with a kind face wearing a shirt with the Joker on it; a heavier-set, middle-aged woman with dyed hair applying makeup while her short hair stayed in gigantic curlers; a male nurse; and two young want-to-be fashionistas.
The next first was traveling on public transit without my parents. My family split up once we got into the city, with Mother of Mine leaving for the National Archives, Father of Mine traveling to an office on business, and Brother of Mine coming with me to the International Spy Museum. It was disorienting to walk through large, loud, underground tunnels full of people and moving trains. But also very fun.
That brings me to - I think the fourth first: First nontraditional museum. In the past, my family has gone to Natural History museums, art museums, history museums, and other similarly traditional museums. But today, Brother of Mine and I went to the Spy Museum, which is exactly what it sounds like. But rather than being a tourist trap with a couple of Cold War relics sitting around in a noisy room, it was full of information. Yes, I did get to crawl through a duct, and yes, they did assign me a spy alias at the beginning of my visit.
The museum left me, especially the later exhibits, with a greater understanding of just what goes into providing for a nation's security. The museum spoke with James Woolsey, the former director of the CIA, and many other extremely qualified sources about spycraft and information-gathering. It was a very sobering tour, and I would completely recommend it to anyone, provided they don't have a problem looking at pocket garrotes, lipstick pistols, ring revolvers, and a lot of sharp and pointy objects designed to wound or kill. A 5/5 in my book. Absolutely fascinating.
The next first was first time attending a music festival. Brother of Mine and I took the metro to the Smithsonian, and stepped out into their Folklife festival. If you're from the Northwest, you're probably thinking that this was a grunge fest full of aspiring musicians and crafty craftsman. Wrong.
The Smithsonian's Folklife Festival was focused on three themes; The country of Columbia; the second was the Peace Corps; and the last was Rhythm and Blues. Brother of Mine and I ended up in the Soulsville Pavilion, where we got an auditory treat.
We got to hear the Stax Music Academy perform, and let me tell you - they were incredible. Most of the problems associated with live performances were there, but even through the feedback and the mic giving out in the middle of a rendition of Superstitious, you could tell that these kids were GOOD!
So that was my day. It feels as if I've just had more experiences than possible in 12 hours, but I have. Hmm. Time is playing with my head again. Yet strangely, I don't mind.
B
30 June 2011
29 June 2011
Carbon-based sustenance
The past few food-focused entries I've done recently have centered on the unusual and exotic meals I've eaten on vacation. But today, I'm going to tell you about a rather ordinary dinner.
After visiting Mount Vernon, my family and I were exhausted. We spent over six hours visiting George Washington's home, and while I had eaten a very large meal before entering the park, by the time we left my blood sugar levels had long since tanked.
Because I'm mildly hypoglycemic, low blood sugar is not a good thing. I get severe headaches, and thinking feels like wading through molasses. I have trouble concentrating on anything for long periods of time, and if I don 't eat soon, I have difficulties expressing myself coherently. It's a drag.
Anyways, we left Mount Vernon and ended up in historic downtown Alexandria, a cute little town outside DC that my dad compared to "the University District [of Seattle] on steriods." I would have to agree. After driving up and down the street waiting for Mom and Thursday to decide where we would eat, Dad used his right as Benevolent Dictator and decided we would eat at Murphy's Pub and Grill.
Murphy's, in case you couldn't guess, is an Irish pub/sports bar. Unlike a lot of pubs in the area I live, it wasn't kitschy and represented the best combination of Irish pub food and American sports bar. There were at least three different baseball games being shown on large screens around the tiny, 2nd floor combined bar-table area. The waitress had an Irish accent, and gave us a coupon advertising food deals if we came late on July 3rd dressed in our most patriotic garb. There was a tiny little stage with a pitcher full of ice ready for the musicians (cleverly called "the Havers") whenever they would show up.
And the food? The food was not gourmet, it was not delicate, and it was not vegetarian.
Now, if you know me in real life, you'll know that I'm a vegetarian in theory. I don't particularly enjoy the taste of meat, and I think that the meat industry today is unsustainable, cruel to animals, and doesn't really sell healthy food to average Americans. However, I try not to be one of those obnoxious vegetarians who won't eat something if there's a chance, however slim, that it touched something that touched meat. For instance, my friend served French Dip sandwiches at his birthday dinner, and didn't make much of vegetable side dishes. I ate the sandwiches because, as I've said, while I prefer vegetarianism, it's just that: a preference.
So when we went in Murphy's tonight, with my tanking blood sugar levels and a menu full of meat, the simplest, most logical, and most tasty option was to order meat. I thus found myself, a few minutes later, staring at a large plate of meat and potatoe pie with homemade fries. The pie is fairly self-explanatory, being the standard ground beef and sausage with peas, onions, and corn inside mashed potatoes with gravy. The fries, however, were unusual.
Take a whole potato. Slice it to form about 3/4 inch thick discs, and sautee them in a skillet. You now have the fries I ate with dinner.
Mmm. Today was good. And my blood sugar's returned to normal, thanks for asking!
B
After visiting Mount Vernon, my family and I were exhausted. We spent over six hours visiting George Washington's home, and while I had eaten a very large meal before entering the park, by the time we left my blood sugar levels had long since tanked.
Because I'm mildly hypoglycemic, low blood sugar is not a good thing. I get severe headaches, and thinking feels like wading through molasses. I have trouble concentrating on anything for long periods of time, and if I don 't eat soon, I have difficulties expressing myself coherently. It's a drag.
Anyways, we left Mount Vernon and ended up in historic downtown Alexandria, a cute little town outside DC that my dad compared to "the University District [of Seattle] on steriods." I would have to agree. After driving up and down the street waiting for Mom and Thursday to decide where we would eat, Dad used his right as Benevolent Dictator and decided we would eat at Murphy's Pub and Grill.
Murphy's, in case you couldn't guess, is an Irish pub/sports bar. Unlike a lot of pubs in the area I live, it wasn't kitschy and represented the best combination of Irish pub food and American sports bar. There were at least three different baseball games being shown on large screens around the tiny, 2nd floor combined bar-table area. The waitress had an Irish accent, and gave us a coupon advertising food deals if we came late on July 3rd dressed in our most patriotic garb. There was a tiny little stage with a pitcher full of ice ready for the musicians (cleverly called "the Havers") whenever they would show up.
And the food? The food was not gourmet, it was not delicate, and it was not vegetarian.
Now, if you know me in real life, you'll know that I'm a vegetarian in theory. I don't particularly enjoy the taste of meat, and I think that the meat industry today is unsustainable, cruel to animals, and doesn't really sell healthy food to average Americans. However, I try not to be one of those obnoxious vegetarians who won't eat something if there's a chance, however slim, that it touched something that touched meat. For instance, my friend served French Dip sandwiches at his birthday dinner, and didn't make much of vegetable side dishes. I ate the sandwiches because, as I've said, while I prefer vegetarianism, it's just that: a preference.
So when we went in Murphy's tonight, with my tanking blood sugar levels and a menu full of meat, the simplest, most logical, and most tasty option was to order meat. I thus found myself, a few minutes later, staring at a large plate of meat and potatoe pie with homemade fries. The pie is fairly self-explanatory, being the standard ground beef and sausage with peas, onions, and corn inside mashed potatoes with gravy. The fries, however, were unusual.
Take a whole potato. Slice it to form about 3/4 inch thick discs, and sautee them in a skillet. You now have the fries I ate with dinner.
Mmm. Today was good. And my blood sugar's returned to normal, thanks for asking!
B
Washington DC
I'm here, my lovelies. I entered Maryland last night and am now about twenty minutes from the Capital. Mom got a great deal on a very nice hotel that we will be calling home for the next week.
To give you an idea of the hotel, I'll transcribe the label of something I found in the room: "A warm blend of sparkling bergamot and fresh ginger with clean musk notes of white tea, amid spicy nuances of vetiver and nutmeg."
What do you think this is? At best, some fancy tea - more likely, a bottle of wine. Actually, it's neither. The inscription is from the shampoo, conditioner, and body lotion provided by the hotel. O.o Yeah, tell me about it.
Well, yesterday I visited Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's country home. Frankly, I was disappointed with the Thomas Jefferson Historical Society's heavy-handed and agenda-driven depiction of this founding father. I understand that historians all have their pet theories and cherished idea as to who historical persons are, but the Society's view is ignoring well-documented relationships and influences with Thomas Jefferson to push their own perspective. It's bad history.
At Monticello, the tour guides and museum exhibits presented this view of Jefferson: He was a wealthy landowner who was, at heart, a freethinking atheist and humanist. While he owned slaves, he didn't want to, and in fact went against social conventions of the day to father four children with a slave he owned, Sally Hemming.
I don't contest that these facts are true or doubtless true - DNA evidence apparently links Hemming's children to someone in Jefferson's close family. However, the man they present to the general public is like a badly written character in a book - incredibly one-sided. Jefferson was all these things, but he was more. He was married to his wife for ten years, and loved her so much that when she died, he couldn't stand to be in the same country as they had lived together in. Which is how he ended up in France. The Society barely mentioned Mrs. Jefferson, instead focusing their efforts on his "sordid affair" with Sally Hemmings. There are contradictions within his character, but the Society focuses on the Jefferson they want to exist: the man who is the standard bearer for secular humanists around the world.
I didn't have these problems with Mount Vernon when I visited today. While Monticello is an amazingly beautiful house, it does not have the character that Mount Vernon does. Both are mansions rather than houses; both were designed by their owners. But while Monticello has expensive hardwoods, Mount Vernon has yellow pine painted to look like mahogany. While Monticello has portraits and busts covering the walls; Mount Vernon's decorative borders are painted to look three-dimensional.
In short, Monticello is like a library or an art piece that I admire from a distance, but Mount Vernon is a house I could see myself coming home to. The difference is like night and day.
Not just that, but the protectors of Mount Vernon portray George Washington more faithfully to his nature than the Jefferson Society. The Mount Vernon Ladies' Association has drawn from many, many outside sources to describe the services Washington gave to my country. Rather than relying on family rumor and gossip, they reference historians, his contemporaries, and relevant documents to support their claims to his personality.
I came away from Monticello with a slight distaste for Jefferson and the Society, but Mount Vernon left me a very high standard to live up to. Washington's thrift, compassion, and generousity; his cunning, courage, and humility; and his incredible faith were all documented. The Association admits he owned slaves and provide tours examining the lives these slaves led at Mount Vernon, but they look to his impact on the country.
And I left exhausted. Six-and-a-half hours after entering his estate, I still had not experienced everything George Washington's home preserved.
I will cover my culinary adventures of the day in my next post.
To give you an idea of the hotel, I'll transcribe the label of something I found in the room: "A warm blend of sparkling bergamot and fresh ginger with clean musk notes of white tea, amid spicy nuances of vetiver and nutmeg."
What do you think this is? At best, some fancy tea - more likely, a bottle of wine. Actually, it's neither. The inscription is from the shampoo, conditioner, and body lotion provided by the hotel. O.o Yeah, tell me about it.
Well, yesterday I visited Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's country home. Frankly, I was disappointed with the Thomas Jefferson Historical Society's heavy-handed and agenda-driven depiction of this founding father. I understand that historians all have their pet theories and cherished idea as to who historical persons are, but the Society's view is ignoring well-documented relationships and influences with Thomas Jefferson to push their own perspective. It's bad history.
At Monticello, the tour guides and museum exhibits presented this view of Jefferson: He was a wealthy landowner who was, at heart, a freethinking atheist and humanist. While he owned slaves, he didn't want to, and in fact went against social conventions of the day to father four children with a slave he owned, Sally Hemming.
I don't contest that these facts are true or doubtless true - DNA evidence apparently links Hemming's children to someone in Jefferson's close family. However, the man they present to the general public is like a badly written character in a book - incredibly one-sided. Jefferson was all these things, but he was more. He was married to his wife for ten years, and loved her so much that when she died, he couldn't stand to be in the same country as they had lived together in. Which is how he ended up in France. The Society barely mentioned Mrs. Jefferson, instead focusing their efforts on his "sordid affair" with Sally Hemmings. There are contradictions within his character, but the Society focuses on the Jefferson they want to exist: the man who is the standard bearer for secular humanists around the world.
I didn't have these problems with Mount Vernon when I visited today. While Monticello is an amazingly beautiful house, it does not have the character that Mount Vernon does. Both are mansions rather than houses; both were designed by their owners. But while Monticello has expensive hardwoods, Mount Vernon has yellow pine painted to look like mahogany. While Monticello has portraits and busts covering the walls; Mount Vernon's decorative borders are painted to look three-dimensional.
In short, Monticello is like a library or an art piece that I admire from a distance, but Mount Vernon is a house I could see myself coming home to. The difference is like night and day.
Not just that, but the protectors of Mount Vernon portray George Washington more faithfully to his nature than the Jefferson Society. The Mount Vernon Ladies' Association has drawn from many, many outside sources to describe the services Washington gave to my country. Rather than relying on family rumor and gossip, they reference historians, his contemporaries, and relevant documents to support their claims to his personality.
I came away from Monticello with a slight distaste for Jefferson and the Society, but Mount Vernon left me a very high standard to live up to. Washington's thrift, compassion, and generousity; his cunning, courage, and humility; and his incredible faith were all documented. The Association admits he owned slaves and provide tours examining the lives these slaves led at Mount Vernon, but they look to his impact on the country.
And I left exhausted. Six-and-a-half hours after entering his estate, I still had not experienced everything George Washington's home preserved.
I will cover my culinary adventures of the day in my next post.
27 June 2011
More Culinary Adventures in Charleston, South Carolina
Well hello there, my lovelies! As the title of this post implies, I was in Charleston at some point yesterday. Hehe. It's like a big game of Where's Waldo? except this Waldo is wearing a striped skirt and is most definitely female.
But anyways. Charleston. My family took a guided tour around the city in one of those obnoxious tour buses full of culturally insensitive tourists. In this case, it was completely, totally, absolutely awesome. Our guide was a native Charlestonian who had served in Vietnam and came back missing a couple fingers and with the addition of some metal in his leg. He was absolutely passionate about the history of his town, and since my family was the only group on the bus, we got a much more personalized tour with lots of questions answered.
After our two-hour tour - which ended up running late because of all our questions - my family went to this local seafood resteraunt called Hyman's. When we got to our table, I noticed some little placards screwed onto the edges. They commemorated the famous, shiny people who had eaten at the table we were sitting at. These included Metallica and Barbra Streisand, among others. While eating, I had to battle with the conflicting urges to 1. burst into a full-throated rendition of "Hello, Dolly!" and 2. start muttering the bridge to "Enter Sandman" under my breath. Quite unusual.
But on to the real reason you're reading this post. You, obviously, want to know what strange new foods I had at the restaurant yesterday. There were a few, let me tell you.
First up were the hot boiled peanuts. I'd seen signs advertising these at gas stations all along the East Coast, and the sounded repulsive. So when the kind staff at Hyman's placed some in front of me, I just had to try them. They taste like peanuts, but their texture is ... grainy. Kind of like a combonation of a really mealy baked potatoe and water chestnuts. It's soft and kind of crunchy and really mealy all at the same time. They're fine, but I wouldn't go out of my way to eat them again.
Dad and I realized that there were fried green tomatoes and fried okra on the menu. Dad is legendary in our family for his extreme distaste for fried green tomatoes, so naturally, I wanted to try them. Now, something to know about Southern food is that when they say "fried" they actually mean "dipped in batter and fried in butter."
Fried green tomatoes are nothing more than big slices of green tomatoes - like the slices on a hamburger - which are then battered and fried. In my case, the fried coating was so buttery that I couldn't really taste the green tomatoes, but the texture was ... less than pleasant. First there was a crunch as you get through the fried exterior. Then comes a squish as the seeds of the slice slurp into your mouth. And then there's a mush as the cooked tomato "meat" enters your mouth. It feels kind of slimy going down. I can understand why Dad doesn't like them.
Fried okra is pretty good, though. Okra is spicy - kind of a mix of black pepper and cayenne. It's a seed pod, like zucchini, but it's hollow inside like a reed. When they fry okra, they slice it horizontally, batter, butter, and fry it. The spiciness of the okra comes through the fry nicely, without being too overpowering or overpowered. It's texture is like sauteed zucchini. I give it a plus, but because of the frying, I"m not sure I'd eat it again.
The next thing I tried were hushpuppies. They're basically like cornbread donuts. They're balls of cornmeal that's been - you guessed it - fried. The outside is lovely and crunchy, and the inside is piping hot and a little sweet. I would eat them again, but not many.
By the time I got through the boiled peanuts, fried green tomatoes and okra, and hushpuppies, I was starting to get a stomach ache from all the rich food. I don't understand why people call this style of food "comfort food", because it just makes me feel uncomfortably greasy and disgusting.
I was glad that I ordered seafood marinara instead of seafood alfredo. While the marinara doesn't disguise the fishiness of the fresh seafood as well as alfredo, it didn't contain butter, cream, and flour. The last food I tried was scallops. Because I had a stomach ache, I'm not sure if my distaste for these were from the texture, or just from orneriness.
Scallops. They're like big, cylinders of white muscles. Which are then cut into kind of thick circles and placed onto a perfectly good dish like they complete the dish. I couldn't taste anything, but it felt like I was biting into a tongue or something from the texture of the meat. I'll have to try them again today - I've got tons of leftovers - and see if sans stomach pain, they are any better.
I'm no longer in South Carolina, by the way. For all you stalkers out there, Problematic's current location is just outside the Technology Triangle in North Carolina. That is to say, I'm somewhere in the area of Durham, Raleigh, and Chapel Hill. The sun is shining through a level of clouds high up in the sky. We're doing laundry, and my pigtails are swaying gently in the air-conditioning. Life is good, folks.
Now let's have at that seafood.
B
But anyways. Charleston. My family took a guided tour around the city in one of those obnoxious tour buses full of culturally insensitive tourists. In this case, it was completely, totally, absolutely awesome. Our guide was a native Charlestonian who had served in Vietnam and came back missing a couple fingers and with the addition of some metal in his leg. He was absolutely passionate about the history of his town, and since my family was the only group on the bus, we got a much more personalized tour with lots of questions answered.
After our two-hour tour - which ended up running late because of all our questions - my family went to this local seafood resteraunt called Hyman's. When we got to our table, I noticed some little placards screwed onto the edges. They commemorated the famous, shiny people who had eaten at the table we were sitting at. These included Metallica and Barbra Streisand, among others. While eating, I had to battle with the conflicting urges to 1. burst into a full-throated rendition of "Hello, Dolly!" and 2. start muttering the bridge to "Enter Sandman" under my breath. Quite unusual.
But on to the real reason you're reading this post. You, obviously, want to know what strange new foods I had at the restaurant yesterday. There were a few, let me tell you.
First up were the hot boiled peanuts. I'd seen signs advertising these at gas stations all along the East Coast, and the sounded repulsive. So when the kind staff at Hyman's placed some in front of me, I just had to try them. They taste like peanuts, but their texture is ... grainy. Kind of like a combonation of a really mealy baked potatoe and water chestnuts. It's soft and kind of crunchy and really mealy all at the same time. They're fine, but I wouldn't go out of my way to eat them again.
Dad and I realized that there were fried green tomatoes and fried okra on the menu. Dad is legendary in our family for his extreme distaste for fried green tomatoes, so naturally, I wanted to try them. Now, something to know about Southern food is that when they say "fried" they actually mean "dipped in batter and fried in butter."
Fried green tomatoes are nothing more than big slices of green tomatoes - like the slices on a hamburger - which are then battered and fried. In my case, the fried coating was so buttery that I couldn't really taste the green tomatoes, but the texture was ... less than pleasant. First there was a crunch as you get through the fried exterior. Then comes a squish as the seeds of the slice slurp into your mouth. And then there's a mush as the cooked tomato "meat" enters your mouth. It feels kind of slimy going down. I can understand why Dad doesn't like them.
Fried okra is pretty good, though. Okra is spicy - kind of a mix of black pepper and cayenne. It's a seed pod, like zucchini, but it's hollow inside like a reed. When they fry okra, they slice it horizontally, batter, butter, and fry it. The spiciness of the okra comes through the fry nicely, without being too overpowering or overpowered. It's texture is like sauteed zucchini. I give it a plus, but because of the frying, I"m not sure I'd eat it again.
The next thing I tried were hushpuppies. They're basically like cornbread donuts. They're balls of cornmeal that's been - you guessed it - fried. The outside is lovely and crunchy, and the inside is piping hot and a little sweet. I would eat them again, but not many.
By the time I got through the boiled peanuts, fried green tomatoes and okra, and hushpuppies, I was starting to get a stomach ache from all the rich food. I don't understand why people call this style of food "comfort food", because it just makes me feel uncomfortably greasy and disgusting.
I was glad that I ordered seafood marinara instead of seafood alfredo. While the marinara doesn't disguise the fishiness of the fresh seafood as well as alfredo, it didn't contain butter, cream, and flour. The last food I tried was scallops. Because I had a stomach ache, I'm not sure if my distaste for these were from the texture, or just from orneriness.
Scallops. They're like big, cylinders of white muscles. Which are then cut into kind of thick circles and placed onto a perfectly good dish like they complete the dish. I couldn't taste anything, but it felt like I was biting into a tongue or something from the texture of the meat. I'll have to try them again today - I've got tons of leftovers - and see if sans stomach pain, they are any better.
I'm no longer in South Carolina, by the way. For all you stalkers out there, Problematic's current location is just outside the Technology Triangle in North Carolina. That is to say, I'm somewhere in the area of Durham, Raleigh, and Chapel Hill. The sun is shining through a level of clouds high up in the sky. We're doing laundry, and my pigtails are swaying gently in the air-conditioning. Life is good, folks.
Now let's have at that seafood.
B
25 June 2011
Another Ramble
Now that I have time to finally blog again, it seems I have an overwhelming desire to tell y'all about what I've been doing with this time. Besides sitting in front of a computer in a dark hotel room, I mean.
The past couple days have been pretty interesting. Not as relaxing as my time in Pass-A-Grille, but good, nonetheless. Two days ago, my family drove from Homestead, Florida to Key West and back. On our way, we stopped on Key Largo and went snorkeling. It was really fun, though there was this one barracuda that kept stalking me. Or at least, it felt like that. After snorkeling, we started off toward Key West again, but hunger made us stop at this little hole-in-the-wall restaurant that had been advertising its "World Famous Fish Sandwichs" for several miles. Well, I'd never heard of the sandwich before, but I should have.
It contained generous portions of lightly breaded dolphin fish with cheddar cheese, tartar sauce, and tomatoes on top of toasted whole wheat bread. Mmmm. Delicious.
So anyways, we get to Key West and go to Hemingway's Home. His house is gorgeous, but honestly, the main draw for me was all the cats running around. If you didn't know before, Hemingway owned two cats, of which at least one had a common genetic mutation giving it six toes instead of five. Well, in his will, Hemingway provided for the care of his cats, and generations later, there are lots of his cats descendants running loose on the property. They're quite tame, and generally enjoy being petted. But the greatest thing is that the majority of them also have six toes. It's pretty cool.
Yesterday my family went to the Everglades. We took a boat tour up into the backcountry in the mangrove swamps and along the way saw both the American Crocodile and aligators. That was neat, too. However, our time in the National Park was shortened both by the approaching thunderstorm and the numerous moskitoes determined to get at me despite the generous layer of DEET Mom had coated me with.
I've also fallen in love with the Anhinga , a fish-hunting bird native to the Everglades. It is absolutely beautiful, and I highly recommend looking up pictures of it online.
Today we visited St. Augustine, the oldest city in the US. It was established in 1595 by the Spanish in northern Florida, who promptly built Castillo de San Marcos. Coincidentally, this castillo is still standing, preserved as a National Monument. One really interesting thing is that the fort has been used by Spanish, English, and United States forces, including, at one time, Confederate soldiers. It has stood in one place since it was first built by the Spanish, and you can see where the shell-stone has worn away on the steps into the moat. The middle of the steps are almost even with the top of the step previous to it. You can almost taste the history in the air.
So tonight, my family is heading in toward Savannah, Georgia as we start our way to Washington DC. Oh, I think I forgot to tell you! I'm going to be spending July 4th in the Capital! Words cannot adequately describe how excited I am.
However, since the car is about to head into a gigantic lighting storm and gullywasher, I think I shall leave my comments on my tourism at that. Except to say that I'm marvellously tan.
B
The past couple days have been pretty interesting. Not as relaxing as my time in Pass-A-Grille, but good, nonetheless. Two days ago, my family drove from Homestead, Florida to Key West and back. On our way, we stopped on Key Largo and went snorkeling. It was really fun, though there was this one barracuda that kept stalking me. Or at least, it felt like that. After snorkeling, we started off toward Key West again, but hunger made us stop at this little hole-in-the-wall restaurant that had been advertising its "World Famous Fish Sandwichs" for several miles. Well, I'd never heard of the sandwich before, but I should have.
It contained generous portions of lightly breaded dolphin fish with cheddar cheese, tartar sauce, and tomatoes on top of toasted whole wheat bread. Mmmm. Delicious.
So anyways, we get to Key West and go to Hemingway's Home. His house is gorgeous, but honestly, the main draw for me was all the cats running around. If you didn't know before, Hemingway owned two cats, of which at least one had a common genetic mutation giving it six toes instead of five. Well, in his will, Hemingway provided for the care of his cats, and generations later, there are lots of his cats descendants running loose on the property. They're quite tame, and generally enjoy being petted. But the greatest thing is that the majority of them also have six toes. It's pretty cool.
Yesterday my family went to the Everglades. We took a boat tour up into the backcountry in the mangrove swamps and along the way saw both the American Crocodile and aligators. That was neat, too. However, our time in the National Park was shortened both by the approaching thunderstorm and the numerous moskitoes determined to get at me despite the generous layer of DEET Mom had coated me with.
I've also fallen in love with the Anhinga , a fish-hunting bird native to the Everglades. It is absolutely beautiful, and I highly recommend looking up pictures of it online.
Today we visited St. Augustine, the oldest city in the US. It was established in 1595 by the Spanish in northern Florida, who promptly built Castillo de San Marcos. Coincidentally, this castillo is still standing, preserved as a National Monument. One really interesting thing is that the fort has been used by Spanish, English, and United States forces, including, at one time, Confederate soldiers. It has stood in one place since it was first built by the Spanish, and you can see where the shell-stone has worn away on the steps into the moat. The middle of the steps are almost even with the top of the step previous to it. You can almost taste the history in the air.
So tonight, my family is heading in toward Savannah, Georgia as we start our way to Washington DC. Oh, I think I forgot to tell you! I'm going to be spending July 4th in the Capital! Words cannot adequately describe how excited I am.
However, since the car is about to head into a gigantic lighting storm and gullywasher, I think I shall leave my comments on my tourism at that. Except to say that I'm marvellously tan.
B
24 June 2011
Culinary Adventures update
As of last night, I have also been introduced to the wonders of fried plantain and melon juice. On a related note, while I have never heard of Craig's World Famous Fresh Caught Made-To-Order Fish Sandwich, I feel like I should have. It was very good, and I ate Dolphinfish for the first time ever.
22 June 2011
Culinary Adventures
Aside from being incredibly relaxing, my time in Pass-A-Grille, Florida, has provided many opportunities for culinary adventures.
You see, I subscribe to the theory that if the food is a local speciality or delicacy (and isn't completely disgusting like fried spiders) then there is absolutely no excuse for not trying it.
We can see this when I was still in Hingham, Massachusetts last weekend. My chaperones (different from the ones in Manchester by the Sea) and I walked down into the the town to a speciality ice cream shop. I had the option of getting something boring but delicious - cappucino chip - or something entirely surprising like Mister Christian's Bounty or Hingham Harbor Sludge. I ended up going with the Harbor Sludge because Mister Christian's Bounty had too much chocolate on it for my tastes. But this amply demonstrates my philosophy.
Last night, my philosophy was put to the test. My dad's parents and one of his sister (plus her family) live in Tampa Since my family left for the Everglades today, the extended family got together to eat at Crabby Bill's, a local seafood restaurant. My uncle ordered Aligator Bites as an appetizer with a fiendish look in his eyes.
Now, I thought the name "Aligator Bites" was just some cute name for, say, popcorn chicken or another standard plebeian restaurant appetizer. Wrong. When the food got to the table, my uncle revealed that the deep-fried tidbits on the plate in front of me were, in fact, pieces of fried aligator tail.
In hindsight, I can say it's the only food that honestly tastes like chicken. Chewy chicken. Mmmm.
But that wasn't all. My dad, being a southern gentleman born and bred, was very excited when he saw Crabby Bill's also served frog legs. I did not realize Dad had ordered them until I happened to glance over in the midst of my scrumptious dinner - about which I shall inform you shortly - and saw him holding the battered and fried tail end of a frog. It was, in fact, a frog.
Dad extended the frog to me, but seeing the distaste on my face, instead took a piece off the legs and handed it to me. It was white, but looked kind of like fried chicken that's been peeled from the bone.
All I know is that frog legs taste like frog. They're kind of fresh-watery and fishy and taste slimy even though they're not actually covered in slime. Frog legs taste kind of like really fishy rainbow trout.
But enough about culinary adventures that others started for me. Last night, I chose to eat sugar cane.
I had shrimp skewered on sugar cane for dinner last night. They were covered in key lime honey mustard and red peppers, and served with savory rice. The sweet and savory and spicy and salty all combined into one beautiful explosion in my mouth. The sugarcane made the shrimp very sweet, which contrasted with the salty and savory rice, and the spicy mustard. I loved it!
I should probably stop talking about my dinner last night because I'm making myself hungry and the car shows no signs of stopping.
In other news, I got to try another icecream flavor today. It was called Captain's Butterscotch. It had vanilla and butterscotch icecream with Heath bars, caramel cups, peanut butter cups, chocolate chips, caramel swirls, toffee chips, and toffee chunks. Yum. Homemade icecream is the best.
B, who is headed off to the Everglades with her tan and her beach hair.
You see, I subscribe to the theory that if the food is a local speciality or delicacy (and isn't completely disgusting like fried spiders) then there is absolutely no excuse for not trying it.
We can see this when I was still in Hingham, Massachusetts last weekend. My chaperones (different from the ones in Manchester by the Sea) and I walked down into the the town to a speciality ice cream shop. I had the option of getting something boring but delicious - cappucino chip - or something entirely surprising like Mister Christian's Bounty or Hingham Harbor Sludge. I ended up going with the Harbor Sludge because Mister Christian's Bounty had too much chocolate on it for my tastes. But this amply demonstrates my philosophy.
Last night, my philosophy was put to the test. My dad's parents and one of his sister (plus her family) live in Tampa Since my family left for the Everglades today, the extended family got together to eat at Crabby Bill's, a local seafood restaurant. My uncle ordered Aligator Bites as an appetizer with a fiendish look in his eyes.
Now, I thought the name "Aligator Bites" was just some cute name for, say, popcorn chicken or another standard plebeian restaurant appetizer. Wrong. When the food got to the table, my uncle revealed that the deep-fried tidbits on the plate in front of me were, in fact, pieces of fried aligator tail.
In hindsight, I can say it's the only food that honestly tastes like chicken. Chewy chicken. Mmmm.
But that wasn't all. My dad, being a southern gentleman born and bred, was very excited when he saw Crabby Bill's also served frog legs. I did not realize Dad had ordered them until I happened to glance over in the midst of my scrumptious dinner - about which I shall inform you shortly - and saw him holding the battered and fried tail end of a frog. It was, in fact, a frog.
Dad extended the frog to me, but seeing the distaste on my face, instead took a piece off the legs and handed it to me. It was white, but looked kind of like fried chicken that's been peeled from the bone.
All I know is that frog legs taste like frog. They're kind of fresh-watery and fishy and taste slimy even though they're not actually covered in slime. Frog legs taste kind of like really fishy rainbow trout.
But enough about culinary adventures that others started for me. Last night, I chose to eat sugar cane.
I had shrimp skewered on sugar cane for dinner last night. They were covered in key lime honey mustard and red peppers, and served with savory rice. The sweet and savory and spicy and salty all combined into one beautiful explosion in my mouth. The sugarcane made the shrimp very sweet, which contrasted with the salty and savory rice, and the spicy mustard. I loved it!
I should probably stop talking about my dinner last night because I'm making myself hungry and the car shows no signs of stopping.
In other news, I got to try another icecream flavor today. It was called Captain's Butterscotch. It had vanilla and butterscotch icecream with Heath bars, caramel cups, peanut butter cups, chocolate chips, caramel swirls, toffee chips, and toffee chunks. Yum. Homemade icecream is the best.
B, who is headed off to the Everglades with her tan and her beach hair.
20 June 2011
Time
It was an odd feeling today on the beach. My dad and I sat on the sand doing absolutely nothing - not even reading a book. Every once in a while, I would stiffen with a jerk, thinking "I should get back to work. There's something I should be doing right now but I've forgotten. Think, Problematic! What are you forgetting?"
And that's when I'd remember. I have nothing to do, nothing to procrastinate, and nothing to feel guilty about. It was odd. The first time that happened, I was swimming in the Gulf of Mexico and suddenly thought that I was feeling so good, but had probably get back to work. The thought left me so stiff that when the giant wave I was waiting for finally reached me, I forgot to push off the bottom and got a face full of salt water.
So, as you might have guessed, I spent today at the beach. I didn't wake up until 11:45, when Dad and I went shopping for breakfast foods and a hat for him. After we got home, we walked across the street to the beach and sat. I collected sea shells and Dad sunbathed.
What do I intend to do with the shells? Well, I feel very ingenious. I'm going to figure out how to mail them back to my friends in the Northwest and write on the box: "I know you wish you were here! Haha!" Okay, I might not be that sadistic, but I will be mailing a little bit of this paradise to my friends.
I'm probably going to go to bed now. It's odd not having a plan for the day. I've spent the past year-and-a-half planning ahead and plugging along, and I'm suddenly free. I don't have to plan ahead. I only know of three things I'm doing tomorrow: going shopping with my Oma, swimming at the beach, and eating dinner with my Aunt. No school, nothing. It's CRAZY I'm telling you! I feel like Atlas would if the world were to be lifted from his shoulders. He's held his burden for so long, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. Neither do I.
It's crazy, but oh so beautiful. I'm just sitting here listening to Jason Mraz and blogging about absolutely nothing. I mean, I haven't had the time to blog for real in a really long time. Most of the posts in the past while have been automated, and the ones that haven't been pre-posted were written with time stolen from my schoolwork. If I wanted to, I could take three or four hours to craft a beautiful piece of prose and publish it here. Unfortunately for you, I'm just freewriting at this point. Sorry. The beautiful blog post will have to wait until I have something more meaningful to say.
But honestly, this feels just as good as a big stretch after sitting on a trans-American flight for 6 hours without break. Time. I'd forgotten how luxurious it is to have some to spare. Like today. After basting on the beach for a couple hours, Dad and I rode old schools town bikes down to the Pink Monstrosity - the only commercial hotel chain on the island we stay on. The bike ride was about an hour, and when we got back, I watched an Animal Planet show while Dad showered. We took as long as we wanted to, and now both of us are very pink.
Time. I'd forgotten what it was to have an excess of it.
And that's when I'd remember. I have nothing to do, nothing to procrastinate, and nothing to feel guilty about. It was odd. The first time that happened, I was swimming in the Gulf of Mexico and suddenly thought that I was feeling so good, but had probably get back to work. The thought left me so stiff that when the giant wave I was waiting for finally reached me, I forgot to push off the bottom and got a face full of salt water.
So, as you might have guessed, I spent today at the beach. I didn't wake up until 11:45, when Dad and I went shopping for breakfast foods and a hat for him. After we got home, we walked across the street to the beach and sat. I collected sea shells and Dad sunbathed.
What do I intend to do with the shells? Well, I feel very ingenious. I'm going to figure out how to mail them back to my friends in the Northwest and write on the box: "I know you wish you were here! Haha!" Okay, I might not be that sadistic, but I will be mailing a little bit of this paradise to my friends.
I'm probably going to go to bed now. It's odd not having a plan for the day. I've spent the past year-and-a-half planning ahead and plugging along, and I'm suddenly free. I don't have to plan ahead. I only know of three things I'm doing tomorrow: going shopping with my Oma, swimming at the beach, and eating dinner with my Aunt. No school, nothing. It's CRAZY I'm telling you! I feel like Atlas would if the world were to be lifted from his shoulders. He's held his burden for so long, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. Neither do I.
It's crazy, but oh so beautiful. I'm just sitting here listening to Jason Mraz and blogging about absolutely nothing. I mean, I haven't had the time to blog for real in a really long time. Most of the posts in the past while have been automated, and the ones that haven't been pre-posted were written with time stolen from my schoolwork. If I wanted to, I could take three or four hours to craft a beautiful piece of prose and publish it here. Unfortunately for you, I'm just freewriting at this point. Sorry. The beautiful blog post will have to wait until I have something more meaningful to say.
But honestly, this feels just as good as a big stretch after sitting on a trans-American flight for 6 hours without break. Time. I'd forgotten how luxurious it is to have some to spare. Like today. After basting on the beach for a couple hours, Dad and I rode old schools town bikes down to the Pink Monstrosity - the only commercial hotel chain on the island we stay on. The bike ride was about an hour, and when we got back, I watched an Animal Planet show while Dad showered. We took as long as we wanted to, and now both of us are very pink.
Time. I'd forgotten what it was to have an excess of it.
19 June 2011
72 Truths
1. last beverage: Lemonade
2. last phone call: Dad
3. last text message: Milan
4. last song you listened to : Someday You Will Be Loved by Death Cab for Cutie
5. last time you cried : Round One of my Persuasive at Nationals
6. dated someone twice :Ignatius and I have been going steady for years now.
7. been cheated on: Iggy's far too loyal.
8. kissed someone & regretted it : One of my female relatives has a beard... ;P
9. lost someone special :Yes
10. been depressed: yes
LIST THREE FAVORITE COLORS:
11.Dark Chocolate Brown
12. Dark Slate Grey
13. Deep Burgundy
HAVE YOU EVER:
14. Made a new friend: Yup. Last year at debate camp. ;)
15. Laughed until you cried: Yeah. I wrote a thank you note to the family I stayed with at Nationals, and accidentally wrote "Dear Aunt Paul and Uncle Cindy." Yes, it was late. Yes, I was tired. Yes, it was silly.
16. Met someone who changed you: Indeed. It's up to you to guess who.
17. Found out who your true friends were: Yeah
18. Found out someone was talking about you: Unfortunately, yes
GENERAL:
19. Do you have any pets :Yeah. She's a black cat we call Buttercup, but everyone knows she's actually just a minature Puma called Bageera.
20. Do you want to change your name: Not really. Only to Sylvia St.James
21. What did you do for your last birthday: Played Calvinball and watched Leap Year
22. What time did you wake up today: Do you want Eastern Standard or Pacific Standard? It felt like it was 5:00, but it was actually 8:00
23. What were you doing at midnight last night : Talking with my hosts at Manchester by the Sea
24. Name something you CANNOT wait for: Florida. Oh wait. I'm here. Nevermind. How about the Decemberists concert in August?
25. Last time you saw your Mother : A week ago yesterday.
26. What is one thing you wish you could change about your life: I want more time and less homework.
27. What are you listening to right now: I Will Possess Your Heart by Death Cab for Cutie
28. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom?Yeah. My grandfather
29. Most visited webpage: my email
30. Nickname: Sabam, Beffy,
31. Relationship Status: Single and accounted for
32. Elementary : stuck up and smart
33. Middle School : [text redacted]
34. College : [text redacted]
35. Hair color: Dirty Blond
36. Long or short: Medium or really short.
37. Height : 5'5"
38. Do you have a crush on someone? Ignatius
39. What do you like about yourself? I dunno. I'm kind of ambivalent.
40. Piercing In my ear lobes, and I got it done in a tattoo parlor in Seattle
41. Tattoo: naah
42. Righty or lefty : Mostly right, but slightly ambidextrous
FIRSTS :
43. First surgery : No surgery as of yet. Though I might this summer to get my wisdom teeth removed.
44. First piercing : ears
45. First best friend: Alexis
46: First time spent together: In a music shop. The lights in our eyes reflected off the varnish of the violins.
47. First vacation: I can't really remember. The most memorable one, however, was camping in a rain forest and awaking inside a puddle that formed inside the tent. I was completely soaked and was wringing out clothes for a very long time.
RIGHT NOW:
48. Eating: nothing
49. Drinking:nothing
50. I'm about to: Go to bed
51. Listening to :Death Cab for Cutie
52. Waiting for: Godot
YOUR FUTURE :
53. Want kids? Kids are alright.
54. Get Married? Meh.
55. Career? Recording engineer/tonmeister/acoustician
WHICH IS BETTER :
56. Lips or eyes : Eyes because there is so much complexity in them
57. Hugs or kisses : Hugs, even though they're almost more intimate than kisses. They display such trust.
58. Shorter or talle: Taller, as long as they don't rub it in.
59. Older or Younger: Older
60. Romantic or spontaneous: Both. Spontaneous for romantic things
61. Sensitive or loud: Sensitive. Sorry, obnoxious debater guys.
62. Trouble maker or hesitant: It depends on the degree. Really hesitant is just awkward, but so is very trouble-inclined.
HAVE YOU EVER :
63. Kissed a stranger: No, but I came frighteningly close to tackle-hugging one because she looked so much like my friend.
64. Lost glasses/contacts: lost glasses and broken them
65. Kissed on first date: I haven't gone on a date. So no.
66. Had your heart broken: Wouldn't you just want to know?
67. Been arrested: By the gravity police. My feet weren't firmly planted on the ground. I spent time in the penitentiary of Asphalt.
68. Turned someone down: Yup.
69. Cried when someone died: When I realize that they're dead, yes. But not always. Sometimes I'm just sad.
DO YOU BELIEVE IN:
70. Yourself: Hardly.
71. Miracles: Of course. It's a miracle I'm still alive since I'm so accident-prone
72. Love at first sight: Yes, and his name is Ignatius.
2. last phone call: Dad
3. last text message: Milan
4. last song you listened to : Someday You Will Be Loved by Death Cab for Cutie
5. last time you cried : Round One of my Persuasive at Nationals
6. dated someone twice :Ignatius and I have been going steady for years now.
7. been cheated on: Iggy's far too loyal.
8. kissed someone & regretted it : One of my female relatives has a beard... ;P
9. lost someone special :Yes
10. been depressed: yes
LIST THREE FAVORITE COLORS:
11.Dark Chocolate Brown
12. Dark Slate Grey
13. Deep Burgundy
HAVE YOU EVER:
14. Made a new friend: Yup. Last year at debate camp. ;)
15. Laughed until you cried: Yeah. I wrote a thank you note to the family I stayed with at Nationals, and accidentally wrote "Dear Aunt Paul and Uncle Cindy." Yes, it was late. Yes, I was tired. Yes, it was silly.
16. Met someone who changed you: Indeed. It's up to you to guess who.
17. Found out who your true friends were: Yeah
18. Found out someone was talking about you: Unfortunately, yes
GENERAL:
19. Do you have any pets :Yeah. She's a black cat we call Buttercup, but everyone knows she's actually just a minature Puma called Bageera.
20. Do you want to change your name: Not really. Only to Sylvia St.James
21. What did you do for your last birthday: Played Calvinball and watched Leap Year
22. What time did you wake up today: Do you want Eastern Standard or Pacific Standard? It felt like it was 5:00, but it was actually 8:00
23. What were you doing at midnight last night : Talking with my hosts at Manchester by the Sea
24. Name something you CANNOT wait for: Florida. Oh wait. I'm here. Nevermind. How about the Decemberists concert in August?
25. Last time you saw your Mother : A week ago yesterday.
26. What is one thing you wish you could change about your life: I want more time and less homework.
27. What are you listening to right now: I Will Possess Your Heart by Death Cab for Cutie
28. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom?Yeah. My grandfather
29. Most visited webpage: my email
30. Nickname: Sabam, Beffy,
31. Relationship Status: Single and accounted for
32. Elementary : stuck up and smart
33. Middle School : [text redacted]
34. College : [text redacted]
35. Hair color: Dirty Blond
36. Long or short: Medium or really short.
37. Height : 5'5"
38. Do you have a crush on someone? Ignatius
39. What do you like about yourself? I dunno. I'm kind of ambivalent.
40. Piercing In my ear lobes, and I got it done in a tattoo parlor in Seattle
41. Tattoo: naah
42. Righty or lefty : Mostly right, but slightly ambidextrous
FIRSTS :
43. First surgery : No surgery as of yet. Though I might this summer to get my wisdom teeth removed.
44. First piercing : ears
45. First best friend: Alexis
46: First time spent together: In a music shop. The lights in our eyes reflected off the varnish of the violins.
47. First vacation: I can't really remember. The most memorable one, however, was camping in a rain forest and awaking inside a puddle that formed inside the tent. I was completely soaked and was wringing out clothes for a very long time.
RIGHT NOW:
48. Eating: nothing
49. Drinking:nothing
50. I'm about to: Go to bed
51. Listening to :Death Cab for Cutie
52. Waiting for: Godot
YOUR FUTURE :
53. Want kids? Kids are alright.
54. Get Married? Meh.
55. Career? Recording engineer/tonmeister/acoustician
WHICH IS BETTER :
56. Lips or eyes : Eyes because there is so much complexity in them
57. Hugs or kisses : Hugs, even though they're almost more intimate than kisses. They display such trust.
58. Shorter or talle: Taller, as long as they don't rub it in.
59. Older or Younger: Older
60. Romantic or spontaneous: Both. Spontaneous for romantic things
61. Sensitive or loud: Sensitive. Sorry, obnoxious debater guys.
62. Trouble maker or hesitant: It depends on the degree. Really hesitant is just awkward, but so is very trouble-inclined.
HAVE YOU EVER :
63. Kissed a stranger: No, but I came frighteningly close to tackle-hugging one because she looked so much like my friend.
64. Lost glasses/contacts: lost glasses and broken them
65. Kissed on first date: I haven't gone on a date. So no.
66. Had your heart broken: Wouldn't you just want to know?
67. Been arrested: By the gravity police. My feet weren't firmly planted on the ground. I spent time in the penitentiary of Asphalt.
68. Turned someone down: Yup.
69. Cried when someone died: When I realize that they're dead, yes. But not always. Sometimes I'm just sad.
DO YOU BELIEVE IN:
70. Yourself: Hardly.
71. Miracles: Of course. It's a miracle I'm still alive since I'm so accident-prone
72. Love at first sight: Yes, and his name is Ignatius.
Well-Earned Peace
Wow. I just want to say it's perfect here. I arrived at a little, Old-Florida style hotel about an hour ago (9 pm Eastern), and don't want to leave for a very long time. You get to our room by walking behind the two-story house, past rows of bicycles waiting for the morning, over an uneven deck made of untreated wood, and up some rickety stairs with a view of the courtyard. It's all in black and white, and as I write, the air conditioning goes to work to remove some of the 92 degrees of heat that still linger in the evening air. It smells like suntan lotion, and we have yet to spend time on the beach.
It's startling to realize that I am officially an alumni of speech and debate. I finished my career by going to two national championships, where it may be noted that I exceeded my own expectations. But now, it's over. Nine whole tournaments of fun, a few more friends, a couple more marbles lost, and my speech and debate career is over. Done. Caput. I've barely been done for a day, and I already feel out of the loop.
My spring is going to be incredibly empty next year. Most of my friends will continue to compete and fill their school years with tournaments, suits, and lots of traveling. But me? I don't know what I'm doing. Probably applying to colleges and doing lots of musical recitals.
I've been asked by a couple people to hang around a bit, maybe help some debaters or coach some speech. I can honestly say I don't know how to feel about this. On the one hand, they're my friends and I could help them out, considering that I know the hard way to get to Nationals. On the other hand, I've just used up 5 years of my life doing competitive speech and debate, and I don't need to stick around. There are enough alumni with no life outside of speech and debate, there doesn't need to be one more.
But I'm pushing that off to the side. You see, folks, I'm here in Florida. I haven't had a life, or a real vacation, in years, and I'm determined to exploit my time on the East Coast to the fullest advantage. My mom has promised me a few days of just hanging by the beach, and I intend to hold her to her word. And when we're done in St. Petersburg, we're going first to the Everglades and then to Key West. And after Florida, my family is roadtripping up the East Coast to Washington DC. What this means is that I'm not returning to the Pacific Northwest until July 9th. I'm super excited.
Speaking of which, I'm also super excited to tell my alternative to ballot parties. For those of you not in the know, a ballot party is where all us geeky speech and debaters overwhelm a Denny's or similarly cheap restaurant very late at night and read the pieces of paper over which countless judges have written judgemental, uplifting, or frustrating comments about our speeches and debates. It's pretty masochistic if you stop to think about it. But anyways, I've never really enjoyed ballot parties because I don't like reading ballots unless I really have to. So last night, while I was still in Massachusetts, my chaperones and I drove to the Singing Sands of Manchester by the Sea and frolicked in the waves in full professional attire. It was much more uplifiting and edifying than reading the judgements of strangers.
So anyways, I'm excited to be here. I'm excited to wear my swimsuit instead of my business suit, and I'm excited to rush to the beach instead of to rounds. I'm excited that the only deadline I have is the end of my trip, and while I'm not so excited at leaving my friends behind for a month, I am excited to see them again when I return. I plan on being so tan that I hurt their weak eyes amphibious from all the rain in the Northwest.
So until next time, my dear readers! I'm off to bed where I don't have to set an alarm to get up tomorrow.
B
It's startling to realize that I am officially an alumni of speech and debate. I finished my career by going to two national championships, where it may be noted that I exceeded my own expectations. But now, it's over. Nine whole tournaments of fun, a few more friends, a couple more marbles lost, and my speech and debate career is over. Done. Caput. I've barely been done for a day, and I already feel out of the loop.
My spring is going to be incredibly empty next year. Most of my friends will continue to compete and fill their school years with tournaments, suits, and lots of traveling. But me? I don't know what I'm doing. Probably applying to colleges and doing lots of musical recitals.
I've been asked by a couple people to hang around a bit, maybe help some debaters or coach some speech. I can honestly say I don't know how to feel about this. On the one hand, they're my friends and I could help them out, considering that I know the hard way to get to Nationals. On the other hand, I've just used up 5 years of my life doing competitive speech and debate, and I don't need to stick around. There are enough alumni with no life outside of speech and debate, there doesn't need to be one more.
But I'm pushing that off to the side. You see, folks, I'm here in Florida. I haven't had a life, or a real vacation, in years, and I'm determined to exploit my time on the East Coast to the fullest advantage. My mom has promised me a few days of just hanging by the beach, and I intend to hold her to her word. And when we're done in St. Petersburg, we're going first to the Everglades and then to Key West. And after Florida, my family is roadtripping up the East Coast to Washington DC. What this means is that I'm not returning to the Pacific Northwest until July 9th. I'm super excited.
Speaking of which, I'm also super excited to tell my alternative to ballot parties. For those of you not in the know, a ballot party is where all us geeky speech and debaters overwhelm a Denny's or similarly cheap restaurant very late at night and read the pieces of paper over which countless judges have written judgemental, uplifting, or frustrating comments about our speeches and debates. It's pretty masochistic if you stop to think about it. But anyways, I've never really enjoyed ballot parties because I don't like reading ballots unless I really have to. So last night, while I was still in Massachusetts, my chaperones and I drove to the Singing Sands of Manchester by the Sea and frolicked in the waves in full professional attire. It was much more uplifiting and edifying than reading the judgements of strangers.
So anyways, I'm excited to be here. I'm excited to wear my swimsuit instead of my business suit, and I'm excited to rush to the beach instead of to rounds. I'm excited that the only deadline I have is the end of my trip, and while I'm not so excited at leaving my friends behind for a month, I am excited to see them again when I return. I plan on being so tan that I hurt their weak eyes amphibious from all the rain in the Northwest.
So until next time, my dear readers! I'm off to bed where I don't have to set an alarm to get up tomorrow.
B
08 June 2011
Shutdown Initiated
If anyone ends up reading this, I'll be surprised. Why? Because I haven't posted in almost a month now. Sad, right?
Well, I'm currently in between national tournaments. I went to NITOC last week, and will be attending NCFCA Nationals next week. I leave on Saturday. This is just a quick reminder that I'm still alive and hope to post sometime after Nationals.
Keep Calm.
B
Well, I'm currently in between national tournaments. I went to NITOC last week, and will be attending NCFCA Nationals next week. I leave on Saturday. This is just a quick reminder that I'm still alive and hope to post sometime after Nationals.
Keep Calm.
B
03 May 2011
Aspiration
Aspiration; noun. strong desire, longing, or aim; ambition.
Synonyms: yearning, craving
Are you competitive? I don't mean in the half-hearted, I-kind-of-like-winning way; I mean competitive in the way that drives you in a never-ending race for excellence. Competitive in the way that anything less than your absolute best is unacceptable. Well, are you?
I'm not. Or at least, I didn't used to be. That sort of aspiration to be the best didn't really show up in my speech and debate until I started listening to this song by Muse earlier this year. It was a bit of a wake up call.
Come on, Problematic. This is your last year in the league. Make it count. Make it worthwhile. Make it memorable.
Now, apart from the utterly laughable last statement - memorable? Really? Like someone would remember you in a high-school, home-school speech league of all things? - this all suddenly hit home. I don't quite have the words to describe it, but suddenly, I had a craving for excellence. And suddenly, nothing less than "The Best" would do for me.
There's something funny about cravings. See, you can satisfy them over, and over, and over, but it's never enough. It doesn't matter if the craving is for chocolate, epic soundtracks, winning - choose your poison - the cravings are never completely satisfied. And the worst thing is, sometimes the thing you crave disappoints you.
I had another craving earlier this year. I was craving certain friends, with an intensity that is almost frightening in retrospect. It was an aspiration, of the most dangerous type.
You see, my friends, I have a confession to make. I had centered my life and my self-image around these friends. What is more, I wasted six months of my life standing in the metaphorical train-station, hoping that each new train would bring that which I most desired. I threw away six months, six months of my 17th year waiting for Godot. And the thing about Godot is, he never shows up.
Perhaps I should explain why I craved these friends. When I was younger, I had even more severe problems trusting people than I do now. Then, one day, I accidentally opened up. It was sublime. It was like water in a desert, and it was no mirage. Finally, I had someone to tell when another person hurt me. Finally, there was another corporeal person who would make sympathetic noises as I spilled my guts. It was addictive, and I couldn't get enough of it.
I had perverted something that God has given us - good friends - and turned it into my idol. My aspiration was to be with my friends. I centered myself on our time together, rather than drawing enjoyment from it like one draws enjoyment from the opening-band before the big show.
But then they left, and I had a decision. I made the wrong choice. My "idols" left, and I foolishly waited for them. Don't imagine this is easy to say - I've barely wanted to admit it to myself. As I was finally getting over that aspiration, that craving, a second disaster struck.
People are fallible, even my friends. Perhaps I should say, especially my friends. What happened next is something too painful to recount, but we can say that it left me deeply shaken to the core.
I had put my aspirations in the wrong thing, twice. And both times, they let me down. Aspirations are tricky business. If you settle your aspiration on the wrong thing, you're headed for disaster.
"As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God" Psalm 42
Ultimately, the only safe person to entrust with your strong desire, longing, aim, craving, or yearning is God. Because unlike us mortals, He will never leave us nor forsake us. And if that's not a comforting thought, I don't know what is.
B
Synonyms: yearning, craving
Are you competitive? I don't mean in the half-hearted, I-kind-of-like-winning way; I mean competitive in the way that drives you in a never-ending race for excellence. Competitive in the way that anything less than your absolute best is unacceptable. Well, are you?
I'm not. Or at least, I didn't used to be. That sort of aspiration to be the best didn't really show up in my speech and debate until I started listening to this song by Muse earlier this year. It was a bit of a wake up call.
Come on, Problematic. This is your last year in the league. Make it count. Make it worthwhile. Make it memorable.
Now, apart from the utterly laughable last statement - memorable? Really? Like someone would remember you in a high-school, home-school speech league of all things? - this all suddenly hit home. I don't quite have the words to describe it, but suddenly, I had a craving for excellence. And suddenly, nothing less than "The Best" would do for me.
There's something funny about cravings. See, you can satisfy them over, and over, and over, but it's never enough. It doesn't matter if the craving is for chocolate, epic soundtracks, winning - choose your poison - the cravings are never completely satisfied. And the worst thing is, sometimes the thing you crave disappoints you.
I had another craving earlier this year. I was craving certain friends, with an intensity that is almost frightening in retrospect. It was an aspiration, of the most dangerous type.
You see, my friends, I have a confession to make. I had centered my life and my self-image around these friends. What is more, I wasted six months of my life standing in the metaphorical train-station, hoping that each new train would bring that which I most desired. I threw away six months, six months of my 17th year waiting for Godot. And the thing about Godot is, he never shows up.
Perhaps I should explain why I craved these friends. When I was younger, I had even more severe problems trusting people than I do now. Then, one day, I accidentally opened up. It was sublime. It was like water in a desert, and it was no mirage. Finally, I had someone to tell when another person hurt me. Finally, there was another corporeal person who would make sympathetic noises as I spilled my guts. It was addictive, and I couldn't get enough of it.
I had perverted something that God has given us - good friends - and turned it into my idol. My aspiration was to be with my friends. I centered myself on our time together, rather than drawing enjoyment from it like one draws enjoyment from the opening-band before the big show.
But then they left, and I had a decision. I made the wrong choice. My "idols" left, and I foolishly waited for them. Don't imagine this is easy to say - I've barely wanted to admit it to myself. As I was finally getting over that aspiration, that craving, a second disaster struck.
People are fallible, even my friends. Perhaps I should say, especially my friends. What happened next is something too painful to recount, but we can say that it left me deeply shaken to the core.
I had put my aspirations in the wrong thing, twice. And both times, they let me down. Aspirations are tricky business. If you settle your aspiration on the wrong thing, you're headed for disaster.
"As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God" Psalm 42
Ultimately, the only safe person to entrust with your strong desire, longing, aim, craving, or yearning is God. Because unlike us mortals, He will never leave us nor forsake us. And if that's not a comforting thought, I don't know what is.
B
20 April 2011
Regionals
Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Life has been very busy. Two weeks ago, I competed at the last "qualifying" tournament of the year. It was actually a STOA tournament, but it was the last low-level competition I attended. It was very fun, but even more fun was the Region X Invitational Tournament last week.
To make a long story short, I won my form of debate and the top speaker of that debate form, in addition to extemporaneous. My impromptu, persuasive, extemp, and debate have all qualified to NCFCA's Nationals, held in Boston this year. I've been chasing this goal for five years, and this one year, God blesses me so that all my events bar one reach this level. It seems unreal - it's overwhelming.
You know what's also overwhelming? School. I have gone from swimming in the stuff to drowning. AP tests to study for, essays to write, research papers to start and complete, books to be read and analyzed, college entrance SATs and the COMPASS tests for community college entrance, math homework weeks old, speech and debate to prepare for Nationals, and at some point I should probably start practicing violin again - considering I've only touched my instrument once in the past two weeks, since I've been out of town the rest of the time.
I'm having a marathon school-year. I've been looking forward to summer to relax and just chill, but even that seems to be filling up. Speech camp, possibly debate camp, mission trip to California, two nationals, and oh, let's see, the possibility of some sort of history convention. My driver's license. It's a lot. I'm starting to wonder when this is going to end. I can't see the end in sight, because next fall, I enter community college.
So, dear readers, if these posts start making less and less sense, you'll know exactly what's happening. My back-up marbles haven't shown up in the mail yet, and the current ones are currently fighting a losing war of attrition.
B
To make a long story short, I won my form of debate and the top speaker of that debate form, in addition to extemporaneous. My impromptu, persuasive, extemp, and debate have all qualified to NCFCA's Nationals, held in Boston this year. I've been chasing this goal for five years, and this one year, God blesses me so that all my events bar one reach this level. It seems unreal - it's overwhelming.
You know what's also overwhelming? School. I have gone from swimming in the stuff to drowning. AP tests to study for, essays to write, research papers to start and complete, books to be read and analyzed, college entrance SATs and the COMPASS tests for community college entrance, math homework weeks old, speech and debate to prepare for Nationals, and at some point I should probably start practicing violin again - considering I've only touched my instrument once in the past two weeks, since I've been out of town the rest of the time.
I'm having a marathon school-year. I've been looking forward to summer to relax and just chill, but even that seems to be filling up. Speech camp, possibly debate camp, mission trip to California, two nationals, and oh, let's see, the possibility of some sort of history convention. My driver's license. It's a lot. I'm starting to wonder when this is going to end. I can't see the end in sight, because next fall, I enter community college.
So, dear readers, if these posts start making less and less sense, you'll know exactly what's happening. My back-up marbles haven't shown up in the mail yet, and the current ones are currently fighting a losing war of attrition.
B
11 April 2011
Wake Up
It's Arcade Fire. 'Nuff Said. Wake Up, by Arcade Fire. I especially like the anthem-like introduction.
Somethin’ filled up
my heart with nothin’,
someone told me not to cry.
But now that I’m older,
my heart’s colder,
and I can see that it’s a lie.
Children wake up,
hold your mistake up,
before they turn the summer into dust.
If the children don’t grow up,
our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
We’re just a million little god’s causin rain storms turnin’ every good thing to rust.
I guess we’ll just have to adjust.
With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’ to be
when the reaper he reaches and touches my hand.
With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’
With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am go-goin’
You better look out below!
Somethin’ filled up
my heart with nothin’,
someone told me not to cry.
But now that I’m older,
my heart’s colder,
and I can see that it’s a lie.
Children wake up,
hold your mistake up,
before they turn the summer into dust.
If the children don’t grow up,
our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
We’re just a million little god’s causin rain storms turnin’ every good thing to rust.
I guess we’ll just have to adjust.
With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’ to be
when the reaper he reaches and touches my hand.
With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’
With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am go-goin’
You better look out below!
04 April 2011
Ragdoll Physics
Well, this song is bipolar/interesting. Most probably, it's both at the same time. Ragdoll Physics, by the Diablo Swing Orchestra, is an interesting combination of old-time jazz and Wagner-style opera. I like it immensely. The lyrics are good, and if you haven't figured this out by now, I enjoy symphonic metal.
Pure As The Unborn Son, Pure As The Maid Should Be Ceased To Breathe Again
Never Look Away From Those With Nothing To Spare
But I Do And I Don't Want To Care Anymore
If I Close My Eyes Would It Spare Me The Sight?
Of Decay, Corruption, How We Nurture Destruction
And Everything That Will Doom Us All.
Chaos May Be Thy Name, You Left Us For Anything
Trust Never Been So Misplaced As In Your Arms That Day
Those That You Gave Away To Those Who Could Ease Your Mind
We Were Nothing But A Waste Of Your Time And Space
But I Do And I Don't Want To Care Anymore
If I Close My Eyes Would It Spare Me The Sight?
Of Decay, Corruption, How We Nurture Destruction
And Everything That Will Doom Us All.
Pure As The Unborn Son, Pure As The Maid Should Be Ceased To Breathe Again
Never Look Away From Those With Nothing To Spare
But I Do And I Don't Want To Care Anymore
If I Close My Eyes Would It Spare Me The Sight?
Of Decay, Corruption, How We Nurture Destruction
And Everything That Will Doom Us All.
Chaos May Be Thy Name, You Left Us For Anything
Trust Never Been So Misplaced As In Your Arms That Day
Those That You Gave Away To Those Who Could Ease Your Mind
We Were Nothing But A Waste Of Your Time And Space
But I Do And I Don't Want To Care Anymore
If I Close My Eyes Would It Spare Me The Sight?
Of Decay, Corruption, How We Nurture Destruction
And Everything That Will Doom Us All.
03 April 2011
Transient Beauty
My church has been preaching through Genesis and the Fall of Man. It's been interesting, but what has really stuck out to me is the idea that Creation fell with mankind. The physical world, abstract concepts like Justice, reason, and peace - they all fell with the original sin. But more importantly, beauty fell with man.
This is what I mean: currently, we find beauty in imperfection.
A contorted pepper.
An asymmetrical spider web.
Imperfect snowflakes.
Flowers that are almost symmetrical, but not quite.
The beauty we're observing is one of imperfection. Our sense of beauty fell when Adam first sinned. Now, the Bible says God will restore Creation when Jesus returns, which means everything will be made new, including our human understanding of beauty. The only thing we know about this "new beauty" is that it will be perfect as God is perfect. But besides that, it completely escapes my comprehending.
Just think about it. There are moments - split seconds, really - where the beauty is so strong it kills you. It aches in the most painful way possible. When time slows down for one, exquisite experience that leaves you wondering what could possibly beat it for beauty, grace, or ... perfection, really. Maybe I'm just crazy, and none of you have experienced those "click points", but I sincerely hope you have. They're wonderful.
Anyways, these click points are what I consider the height of beauty. And yet, our sense of beauty is flawed. God will make beauty perfect like Himself. So if the click point is just the illegitimate, ugly, and flawed version of what God originally intended, just think about what Heaven will be like.
Doesn't that thought just give you the shivers? Our click points aren't nearly as beautiful as what will be in Heaven, because they will be made perfect. I have to stop typing now. I'm shivering too much. Just the idea of perfect beauty. Wow.
B
This is what I mean: currently, we find beauty in imperfection.
A contorted pepper.An asymmetrical spider web.
Flowers that are almost symmetrical, but not quite.
The beauty we're observing is one of imperfection. Our sense of beauty fell when Adam first sinned. Now, the Bible says God will restore Creation when Jesus returns, which means everything will be made new, including our human understanding of beauty. The only thing we know about this "new beauty" is that it will be perfect as God is perfect. But besides that, it completely escapes my comprehending.
Just think about it. There are moments - split seconds, really - where the beauty is so strong it kills you. It aches in the most painful way possible. When time slows down for one, exquisite experience that leaves you wondering what could possibly beat it for beauty, grace, or ... perfection, really. Maybe I'm just crazy, and none of you have experienced those "click points", but I sincerely hope you have. They're wonderful.
Anyways, these click points are what I consider the height of beauty. And yet, our sense of beauty is flawed. God will make beauty perfect like Himself. So if the click point is just the illegitimate, ugly, and flawed version of what God originally intended, just think about what Heaven will be like.
Doesn't that thought just give you the shivers? Our click points aren't nearly as beautiful as what will be in Heaven, because they will be made perfect. I have to stop typing now. I'm shivering too much. Just the idea of perfect beauty. Wow.
B
Grab Bag #4
Well, my life is getting chaotic again. Next week, there's another tournament, and immediately following it, the Regional Invitational. Now, the week following Regionals (that's three weeks from now, if you're following) I have a couple big research papers, a few essays, and an oral report due, not to mention the AP tests I ought to prepare for. Busy, neh? But before jumping back into the madness, I'm going to give you a reel of the high and low lights since the beginning of January. Why? Because I feel like it.
In January, I flew to California for a tournament and a college visit. The TSA took my cookies, and discriminated against me because I chose to wear a skirt on the airplane. At the tournament, my persuasive took second place, a feat that I've yet to repeat.
Also in January, two weeks later, I drove from my home in Western Washington to a tournament in Medford, Oregon. This was my first extended exposure to Shrimpy and Shorty. I've got to say, the car ride was the real highlight of the trip. That, and the really messed up cake we made for Calvin's birthday.
Two weeks later, another tournament in Idaho. Once again, I carpooled with Shorty, and we gave Rubbish a ride over to Idaho, but not back. Yes, Rubbish is a new character in this saga. She's named for one of her favorite adjectives. Ahem. Idaho's tournament was an emotional rollercoaster, but surprisingly, I had the most fun at that tournament than any other so far. It was groovy, and I watched Despicable Me for the second time in 4 weeks.
Two weeks after that, yet another tournament - but this was less groovy. I competed as a Team Policy debater, and my partner and I qualified to Regionals, which was unexpected. However, I had stomach flu for the entire tournament, and ended up losing a lot of weight from a. my inability to keep food down, and b. running around a lot. My impromptu speeches went over well with the judges in finals, and I finished 3rd. Despite this comparative success, throwing up all night and competing all day did not make the tournament one of my fonder memories. It got so bad that I almost didn't show up on the second day. Also at this tournament, I spent more time with Shorty. Yeah, I'm really adding up the hours.
After the stomach flu tournament, I had a month to "get ahead" in homework. I'll spare you the details. The next tournament was toward the end of March, and it was ... frustrating. Friends of mine with champion speeches didn't break, showed poorly, or lost their titles to unexpected contenders. There is some personal disappointment, I admit. But frankly, some of the results were entirely unjustified. I'm not saying that the people who won didn't deserve, because the strange results didn't extend through all events. However, some of the results were extremely frustrating.
The tournament was held at a university in Seattle, so Shorty stayed at my house. At the time of my writing this, Shorty and I have spent a cumulative total of 135 hours with each other, using the most conservative estimates. We had some very interesting conversations at early 'o clock, before falling asleep. Actually, Shorty and Gabby's visit during the tournament was the highly of the weekend.
Unless, of course, you mention Gertrude and Alfonso. Wrath, Calvin's little brother, was in a bad mood on that Friday night - and I was entering the state my parents call "rummy." It ended up with Wrath and I waddling across the college campus like a pair of senile penguins, muttering to each other and occasionally yelling "quack!" It was quite fun, and I'm afraid we've permanently scarred some of our friends.
At this point, you've been brought up to speed through the present. You may be wondering how I have time to write all this if I'm so busy preparing for the next weeks. I have two answers: First, I don't have time. Second, I'm writing this in the car on my way from church. So there.
I've been doing a bit of thinking about things over the past three months. I'll try to get some time to type the thoughts up into scintillating blog posts, but your best bet for intelligent thoughts will be in a couple weeks after Regionals. Thoughts that should be coming soon includ: beauty, vulnerability, aspiration, passion, defiance, and surrender.
Now, aren't you curious?
B
In January, I flew to California for a tournament and a college visit. The TSA took my cookies, and discriminated against me because I chose to wear a skirt on the airplane. At the tournament, my persuasive took second place, a feat that I've yet to repeat.
Also in January, two weeks later, I drove from my home in Western Washington to a tournament in Medford, Oregon. This was my first extended exposure to Shrimpy and Shorty. I've got to say, the car ride was the real highlight of the trip. That, and the really messed up cake we made for Calvin's birthday.
Two weeks later, another tournament in Idaho. Once again, I carpooled with Shorty, and we gave Rubbish a ride over to Idaho, but not back. Yes, Rubbish is a new character in this saga. She's named for one of her favorite adjectives. Ahem. Idaho's tournament was an emotional rollercoaster, but surprisingly, I had the most fun at that tournament than any other so far. It was groovy, and I watched Despicable Me for the second time in 4 weeks.
Two weeks after that, yet another tournament - but this was less groovy. I competed as a Team Policy debater, and my partner and I qualified to Regionals, which was unexpected. However, I had stomach flu for the entire tournament, and ended up losing a lot of weight from a. my inability to keep food down, and b. running around a lot. My impromptu speeches went over well with the judges in finals, and I finished 3rd. Despite this comparative success, throwing up all night and competing all day did not make the tournament one of my fonder memories. It got so bad that I almost didn't show up on the second day. Also at this tournament, I spent more time with Shorty. Yeah, I'm really adding up the hours.
After the stomach flu tournament, I had a month to "get ahead" in homework. I'll spare you the details. The next tournament was toward the end of March, and it was ... frustrating. Friends of mine with champion speeches didn't break, showed poorly, or lost their titles to unexpected contenders. There is some personal disappointment, I admit. But frankly, some of the results were entirely unjustified. I'm not saying that the people who won didn't deserve, because the strange results didn't extend through all events. However, some of the results were extremely frustrating.
The tournament was held at a university in Seattle, so Shorty stayed at my house. At the time of my writing this, Shorty and I have spent a cumulative total of 135 hours with each other, using the most conservative estimates. We had some very interesting conversations at early 'o clock, before falling asleep. Actually, Shorty and Gabby's visit during the tournament was the highly of the weekend.
Unless, of course, you mention Gertrude and Alfonso. Wrath, Calvin's little brother, was in a bad mood on that Friday night - and I was entering the state my parents call "rummy." It ended up with Wrath and I waddling across the college campus like a pair of senile penguins, muttering to each other and occasionally yelling "quack!" It was quite fun, and I'm afraid we've permanently scarred some of our friends.
At this point, you've been brought up to speed through the present. You may be wondering how I have time to write all this if I'm so busy preparing for the next weeks. I have two answers: First, I don't have time. Second, I'm writing this in the car on my way from church. So there.
I've been doing a bit of thinking about things over the past three months. I'll try to get some time to type the thoughts up into scintillating blog posts, but your best bet for intelligent thoughts will be in a couple weeks after Regionals. Thoughts that should be coming soon includ: beauty, vulnerability, aspiration, passion, defiance, and surrender.
Now, aren't you curious?
B
28 March 2011
"So Hawt"
After reading this post, you'll probably roll your eyes and grin at the sudden "new" "discovery" I made the other day. But I haven't revealed it yet, so you may as well enjoy this in good humor. As another caveat, please don't think I'm boy-crazy after reading this post. It's just when inspiration hits, you can hardly say no.
I have a facebook, you know. I have a friend who had her picture taken with the lead guitarist of some grunge band I've never heard of. The caption on the picture was something to the effect of "so hawt!" When I looked at the picture, I did a double take. Then I did another. While my friend is quite beautiful, the man she was posing with was not someone I would look at and think "Wow, he's so attractive." The same goes for pretty much every band I've ever run across.
Take Muse, for instance. The lead singer, Matt Bellamy, is scrawny. He has a big nose, and his eyes seem to disappear under his brow line. In no way "attractive," "beautiful," or even "hawt." At least, not in pictures. You see, I finally looked up a music video of Muse. Before starting it, I read some comments to the effect of "I am extremely attracted to Matt Bellamy and want to marry him."
Yes, I edited that. I don't enjoy the crudity and unoriginality of Youtube comments. But that's beside the point.
Before watching the video, I'd only seen a picture of Muse and found them decidedly unattractive, despite their incredible music.But then I watched the music video. I was captivated. This man, who has no conventional beauty, was transformed into a fascinating, larger-than-life creature with the most hypnotic presence I've ever encountered. It was achingly beautiful. The comments suddenly made sense.
I'm not saying I'm attracted to Muse. But I think I'm on to something. Because after this realization, I started noticing the guys I'm around a lot, especially the ones girls tend to congregate around. None of them are what Western culture generally considers classically handsome.
Some of them are shorter or lighter-weight than I am ( which is saying something, since I'm 5'5" and 130 lbs). Some of them have facial hair, which isn't fashionable. Some have horrible attitudes. Now, putting aside the cliche of "all girls like bad boys" (which, for my male audience, is a lie. If you want explanation, shoot me an email), the one thing these popular male friends of mine have in common is their charisma.
All of these guys, be it Muse or Escapist or DinosaurMan or Thursday or SirSarcasm or Calvin (or you get the idea), have captivating personalities. When they walk into the room, there's a distinct air of possession that comes with them. The persona is almost overwhelming if you stop to think about it. It's not necessarily arrogant, or cocky, or even annoying. But the person is completely *there*.
That's my "new" "idea." Attraction has next to nothing to do with looks. I know that personally, the guys that I've been attracted to in the past are, quite frankly, ugly. But their personalities completely overshadow the lack of beauty. This is not to say that I am secretly attracted to the guys I listed in the previous paragraph - because I'm not - but they have this charisma in common. It's interesting, and frankly a little weird.
I took so long writing this post that I forgot where I was going with it. In all likelihood, it was going to be something moralicious about having an attractive personality and possessing inner beauty, but I got interested in other things. Point is, I have finished another people-watching project. And this was the result. Hopefully you're not too creeped out about me. :)
B
I have a facebook, you know. I have a friend who had her picture taken with the lead guitarist of some grunge band I've never heard of. The caption on the picture was something to the effect of "so hawt!" When I looked at the picture, I did a double take. Then I did another. While my friend is quite beautiful, the man she was posing with was not someone I would look at and think "Wow, he's so attractive." The same goes for pretty much every band I've ever run across.
Take Muse, for instance. The lead singer, Matt Bellamy, is scrawny. He has a big nose, and his eyes seem to disappear under his brow line. In no way "attractive," "beautiful," or even "hawt." At least, not in pictures. You see, I finally looked up a music video of Muse. Before starting it, I read some comments to the effect of "I am extremely attracted to Matt Bellamy and want to marry him."
Yes, I edited that. I don't enjoy the crudity and unoriginality of Youtube comments. But that's beside the point.
Before watching the video, I'd only seen a picture of Muse and found them decidedly unattractive, despite their incredible music.But then I watched the music video. I was captivated. This man, who has no conventional beauty, was transformed into a fascinating, larger-than-life creature with the most hypnotic presence I've ever encountered. It was achingly beautiful. The comments suddenly made sense.
I'm not saying I'm attracted to Muse. But I think I'm on to something. Because after this realization, I started noticing the guys I'm around a lot, especially the ones girls tend to congregate around. None of them are what Western culture generally considers classically handsome.
Some of them are shorter or lighter-weight than I am ( which is saying something, since I'm 5'5" and 130 lbs). Some of them have facial hair, which isn't fashionable. Some have horrible attitudes. Now, putting aside the cliche of "all girls like bad boys" (which, for my male audience, is a lie. If you want explanation, shoot me an email), the one thing these popular male friends of mine have in common is their charisma.
All of these guys, be it Muse or Escapist or DinosaurMan or Thursday or SirSarcasm or Calvin (or you get the idea), have captivating personalities. When they walk into the room, there's a distinct air of possession that comes with them. The persona is almost overwhelming if you stop to think about it. It's not necessarily arrogant, or cocky, or even annoying. But the person is completely *there*.
That's my "new" "idea." Attraction has next to nothing to do with looks. I know that personally, the guys that I've been attracted to in the past are, quite frankly, ugly. But their personalities completely overshadow the lack of beauty. This is not to say that I am secretly attracted to the guys I listed in the previous paragraph - because I'm not - but they have this charisma in common. It's interesting, and frankly a little weird.
I took so long writing this post that I forgot where I was going with it. In all likelihood, it was going to be something moralicious about having an attractive personality and possessing inner beauty, but I got interested in other things. Point is, I have finished another people-watching project. And this was the result. Hopefully you're not too creeped out about me. :)
B
Butterflies and Hurricanes
Well, this past weekend was the last NCFCA qualifying tournament. I've got to say, it was a strange mixture of really good, and really bad. The last day, Saturday, was particularly frustrating, and I listened to Butterflies and Hurricanes, by Muse, all day.
Enjoy.
Change everything you are
And everything you were
Your number has been called
Fights and battles have begun
Revenge will surely come
Your hard times are ahead
Best, you've got to be the best
You've got to change the world
And use this chance to be heard
Your time is now
Change everything you are
And everything you were
Your number has been called
Fights and battles have begun
Revenge will surely come
Your hard times are ahead
Best, you've got to be the best
You've got to change the world
And use this chance to be heard
Your time is now
Dont let yourself down
And dont let yourself go
Your last chance has arrived
Best, you've got to be the best
You've got to change the world
And use this chance to be heard
Your time is now
Enjoy.
Change everything you are
And everything you were
Your number has been called
Fights and battles have begun
Revenge will surely come
Your hard times are ahead
Best, you've got to be the best
You've got to change the world
And use this chance to be heard
Your time is now
Change everything you are
And everything you were
Your number has been called
Fights and battles have begun
Revenge will surely come
Your hard times are ahead
Best, you've got to be the best
You've got to change the world
And use this chance to be heard
Your time is now
Dont let yourself down
And dont let yourself go
Your last chance has arrived
Best, you've got to be the best
You've got to change the world
And use this chance to be heard
Your time is now
21 March 2011
Apres Moi
I like Regina Spektor. She's interesting. You never quite know what she's talking about, but she's a talented songwriter and arranger. Enjoy Apres Moi, by Regina Spektor. And go look up the translation of the Russian in the middle of the song.
I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I must go on standing
I'm not my own, it's not my choice
Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood
Après moi, le deluge, after me comes the flood
I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I must go on standing
I'm not my own, it's not my choice
Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood
Après moi le deluge, after me comes the flood
Fevrale dostat chernil i plakat
Pisat O Fevrale navsnryd
Poka grohochushaya slyakot
Vesnoyu charnoyu gorit
Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood
Après moi le deluge, after me comes the flood
I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I must go on standing
I'm not my own, It's not my choice
I must go on stan-stan-ding-ding
You can't, can't break that, that
Which isn't, isn't yours, yours
I'm not, not my own, own
It's not, not my choice, choice
I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I must go on standing
I'm not my own, it's not my choice
Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood
Après moi, le deluge, after me comes the flood
I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I must go on standing
I'm not my own, it's not my choice
Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood
Après moi le deluge, after me comes the flood
Fevrale dostat chernil i plakat
Pisat O Fevrale navsnryd
Poka grohochushaya slyakot
Vesnoyu charnoyu gorit
Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood
Après moi le deluge, after me comes the flood
I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I must go on standing
I'm not my own, It's not my choice
I must go on stan-stan-ding-ding
You can't, can't break that, that
Which isn't, isn't yours, yours
I'm not, not my own, own
It's not, not my choice, choice
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