If you are a fellow blogspot blogger, you have no doubt already discovered the wonders of Blogger Stats. For those of you not in the know, Stats provides a handy look at how many people arrive at my blog, what internet browsers they use, if it's a computer or a smart phone, what posts they look at, things like that.
Now, I was browsing through my Stats this morning, as I normally do after I post, and came to an interesting realization. But first, let me give you the facts.
In April, I had 777 views.
In May, there were 775.
June: 1,124 views.
July: 597
August: 419
September: 494 (and counting)
There was an upward trend through April, May, and June, even though I only made one new post in May. My conclusions? I haven't come to any yet. But I'll let you know if I do. ;)
29 September 2011
28 September 2011
I write poetry. And I don't really like sharing it with people, mostly because I'm kind of afraid that they'll laugh at what goes through my head. But I decided that if I can face my fear of heights, I can face my fear of literary criticism. So I think that for today's post, you're getting a poem I wrote last night, after my friends Shorty and Calvin stopped by. So here you go.
I saw some old friends,
last night.
They were kind enough to
drop by.
And we stood
awkwardly
in my hall
and talked
like things hadn't changed.
But they had.
And as we laughed
too loudly
I happened to look
at the patio
Where I saw spectres,
more,
Waiting their turn
for a chance at life.
We laughed and talked
quietly
not wanting to invite
silence
into our midst.
"Groovy"
"Goshdarnit"
"Sweetie-lambkin"
"Lost puppies!"
We talked and laughed
and I was happy
beyond words.
The thrill of life
The joy of company
the hope of laughter
Reborn.
Yes, I was happy.
It was good to be alive
last night when my old friends
dropped by.
I saw some old friends,
last night.
They were kind enough to
drop by.
And we stood
awkwardly
in my hall
and talked
like things hadn't changed.
But they had.
And as we laughed
too loudly
I happened to look
at the patio
Where I saw spectres,
more,
Waiting their turn
for a chance at life.
We laughed and talked
quietly
not wanting to invite
silence
into our midst.
"Groovy"
"Goshdarnit"
"Sweetie-lambkin"
"Lost puppies!"
We talked and laughed
and I was happy
beyond words.
The thrill of life
The joy of company
the hope of laughter
Reborn.
Yes, I was happy.
It was good to be alive
last night when my old friends
dropped by.
Some days, I'm a bard:
Wandering from town to town,
Telling my stories to peasants
gathered around red hearths,
Making friends and then
Leaving them behind.
Some days, I'm a princess:
Locked in a tower,
Gazing out on the land,
Filling my thoughts with
Mundane visions.
Some days, I dream dreams:
Of earth; and of heaven;
Of courage; of honor; of
Strength through it all.
Some days, I'm a queen:
Holding court in her palace,
Deigning to hear the
Pleas of her subjects.
Some days, I"m a selki:
Working obediently
For the one who
Denies me my skin.
Some days, I'm a spy
And a sneak and a cheat
And a thief, stealing away
With my hard-earned reward.
Some days, I'm a murderer,
slaying, brutally, my own
Hopes and dreams,
Aspirations and thoughts.
Some days, I'm all of these things.
But today, I am I.
I have no blood on my hands,
No stories to tell,
No dreams to dream.
Today, I exist.
And that is enough.
Wandering from town to town,
Telling my stories to peasants
gathered around red hearths,
Making friends and then
Leaving them behind.
Some days, I'm a princess:
Locked in a tower,
Gazing out on the land,
Filling my thoughts with
Mundane visions.
Some days, I dream dreams:
Of earth; and of heaven;
Of courage; of honor; of
Strength through it all.
Some days, I'm a queen:
Holding court in her palace,
Deigning to hear the
Pleas of her subjects.
Some days, I"m a selki:
Working obediently
For the one who
Denies me my skin.
Some days, I'm a spy
And a sneak and a cheat
And a thief, stealing away
With my hard-earned reward.
Some days, I'm a murderer,
slaying, brutally, my own
Hopes and dreams,
Aspirations and thoughts.
Some days, I'm all of these things.
But today, I am I.
I have no blood on my hands,
No stories to tell,
No dreams to dream.
Today, I exist.
And that is enough.
24 September 2011
College Life
It's interesting what an effect sleep can have on your day. For instance, yesterday I headed off to college with about 4 hours of sleep under my belt, and while my day became progressively better (for reasons I shall explain momentarily), it started out very bad indeed. Today, I slept for twelve hours and world looks so much more beautiful than it did yesterday.
So. I have just completed my first week of daily school in 7 years. Is it bad to say I'm already looking forward to Christmas break? Well, maybe, if you didn't know my schedule. This is kind of what it looks like.
6:00 am: Wake up
7:00 am: Be at bus stop
8:00 am: Arrive at college
8:30 am: First class starts
9:30 am : Tuesdays and Thursdays, second class starts. MWF, start waiting
11:20 am: T/Thu class ends
1:30 pm: Precalculus (yay! ... not really.)
2:45 pm: Be at bus stop
4:00 pm: arrive at home
4:30 pm: music lesson
7:00 pm: Youth Symphony rehearsal on Mondays, or private practice rest of the week
11:00 pm: bed time, but not until I've packed a lunch, taken a shower, and finished all my homework
Now, my readers who have attended public school for a while may be scoffing at me. Because, really, seven hours of sleep isn't too bad. Just wait until Problematic has to pull an allnighter to study for an exam.
I see your point. Really, I do. I understand that homeschooling has accustomed me to a life of luxury. Waking up at 8:00am. Going to school only once or twice a week. I know I've had it good, and it's kind of pathetic to be complaining.
The problem is, the schedule I just gave you is the one that I held to this week, not the one that I actually need to be scheduling. Somewhere in that mess of events, I need to get to to the gym, apply for private college, write essays for scholarship competitions, finding a job,and dare I mention ... my social life? I have seriously only had "meaningful" interactions with one person I knew from before I started college. I've talked a lot with two other people, but I had never met them before college. Not only that, but I had only even heard of one of them.
Yay for making new friends? I don't know. I miss my friends from my former life. I've been tempted to get back on the old speech and debate forums just to see how my friends are doing. Rubbish recently emailed me about collaborating on some music together, which was pretty nice of her. But besides getting together for coffee and chocolate cigars with the Professor and Cassandra a couple weeks ago, the only interactions I've had with my peers are what I see on my Facebook feed.
College isn't too bad. My music theory teacher is has an awesome pedigree: he started out as a metal head, became a beatnik when he ran out of metal, and then got interested in classical music when he ran out of jazz. Oh, and did I mention he's a Berklee grad with a primary instrument of bass? Yeah. He's a beast.
My political science teacher is, um, interesting. The jury is still out on that, so I'll get back to you. And Precalculus? My teacher is a knight, so ++ for that. He's one of those mathematicians who obviously love what they're doing but are completely incapable of passing that love onto others. The thing that makes that class a little more bearable is that I'm making friends with my neighbor.
Okay, seriously. What are the odds that the person I just randomly sat next to on the first day likes to spin vinyls for fun and a little profit? Seriously? It's interesting, but the whole format of "I see person X for one hour every week day" is kind of strange for making friends. I'll post more about the progress in upcoming weeks.
Really, the hardest part about college is the waiting. Who would think that waiting could be so tiring. I've got a limited number of options to fill the time. I can do homework, but that doesn't take four hours. I can practice piano and voice, but that still doesn't fill things. There's the computer lab, but it get boring staring at a computer screen in the middle of the day for hours. If I had my violin with me, I might have enough to do to fill four hours. However, there is no power on earth that could induce me to bring Ignatius to campus.
Why? Let's put it this way. Ignatius, himself, is now worth over $1,200. The case is worth about $500. My bow is worth another $500. My set of replacement strings is worth about $120, the shoulder pad, about $100, and the chin rest, $50. The entire package, all 2.5 cubic feet, is well over $2,000. And let's not forget that I had to pay for that over the course of several years. I would not bring Iggy to campus, to haul around on public transit, to potentially forget on the bus or in class or wherever I may spend my time in between.
But if you hear of a beater violin in my area, I'm more than interested.
So there you have it. The week in review. I am so thankful it is the weekend.
B
So. I have just completed my first week of daily school in 7 years. Is it bad to say I'm already looking forward to Christmas break? Well, maybe, if you didn't know my schedule. This is kind of what it looks like.
6:00 am: Wake up
7:00 am: Be at bus stop
8:00 am: Arrive at college
8:30 am: First class starts
9:30 am : Tuesdays and Thursdays, second class starts. MWF, start waiting
11:20 am: T/Thu class ends
1:30 pm: Precalculus (yay! ... not really.)
2:45 pm: Be at bus stop
4:00 pm: arrive at home
4:30 pm: music lesson
7:00 pm: Youth Symphony rehearsal on Mondays, or private practice rest of the week
11:00 pm: bed time, but not until I've packed a lunch, taken a shower, and finished all my homework
Now, my readers who have attended public school for a while may be scoffing at me. Because, really, seven hours of sleep isn't too bad. Just wait until Problematic has to pull an allnighter to study for an exam.
I see your point. Really, I do. I understand that homeschooling has accustomed me to a life of luxury. Waking up at 8:00am. Going to school only once or twice a week. I know I've had it good, and it's kind of pathetic to be complaining.
The problem is, the schedule I just gave you is the one that I held to this week, not the one that I actually need to be scheduling. Somewhere in that mess of events, I need to get to to the gym, apply for private college, write essays for scholarship competitions, finding a job,and dare I mention ... my social life? I have seriously only had "meaningful" interactions with one person I knew from before I started college. I've talked a lot with two other people, but I had never met them before college. Not only that, but I had only even heard of one of them.
Yay for making new friends? I don't know. I miss my friends from my former life. I've been tempted to get back on the old speech and debate forums just to see how my friends are doing. Rubbish recently emailed me about collaborating on some music together, which was pretty nice of her. But besides getting together for coffee and chocolate cigars with the Professor and Cassandra a couple weeks ago, the only interactions I've had with my peers are what I see on my Facebook feed.
College isn't too bad. My music theory teacher is has an awesome pedigree: he started out as a metal head, became a beatnik when he ran out of metal, and then got interested in classical music when he ran out of jazz. Oh, and did I mention he's a Berklee grad with a primary instrument of bass? Yeah. He's a beast.
My political science teacher is, um, interesting. The jury is still out on that, so I'll get back to you. And Precalculus? My teacher is a knight, so ++ for that. He's one of those mathematicians who obviously love what they're doing but are completely incapable of passing that love onto others. The thing that makes that class a little more bearable is that I'm making friends with my neighbor.
Okay, seriously. What are the odds that the person I just randomly sat next to on the first day likes to spin vinyls for fun and a little profit? Seriously? It's interesting, but the whole format of "I see person X for one hour every week day" is kind of strange for making friends. I'll post more about the progress in upcoming weeks.
Really, the hardest part about college is the waiting. Who would think that waiting could be so tiring. I've got a limited number of options to fill the time. I can do homework, but that doesn't take four hours. I can practice piano and voice, but that still doesn't fill things. There's the computer lab, but it get boring staring at a computer screen in the middle of the day for hours. If I had my violin with me, I might have enough to do to fill four hours. However, there is no power on earth that could induce me to bring Ignatius to campus.
Why? Let's put it this way. Ignatius, himself, is now worth over $1,200. The case is worth about $500. My bow is worth another $500. My set of replacement strings is worth about $120, the shoulder pad, about $100, and the chin rest, $50. The entire package, all 2.5 cubic feet, is well over $2,000. And let's not forget that I had to pay for that over the course of several years. I would not bring Iggy to campus, to haul around on public transit, to potentially forget on the bus or in class or wherever I may spend my time in between.
But if you hear of a beater violin in my area, I'm more than interested.
So there you have it. The week in review. I am so thankful it is the weekend.
B
21 September 2011
Grab Bag #4
School started on Monday. I don't mean homeschool coops, like I've been going to for the past six years. No, I mean school. Everyday. Up at 6:15 every morning.
You see, folks, I am officially a college student. It's true. I am writing this in the computer lab at a local college near my house.
That's not actually why I am writing. See, it recently came to my attention that I had not posted on this blog since the end of July, and we are rapidly approaching the end of September.
So it seems I must apologize, friends, for the long and unexplained absence. I will try to explain it, but as I sit, I can barely remember eveything I've done in the interval.
Here's a highlight reel:
1. I had a waterfight to celebrate my birthday, but did not tell anyone its purpose.
2. I went on a short-term mission trip with YWAM to Gleanings for the Hungry
3. I was kidnapped for my birthday by Gray, Ophelia, and two new brothers who shall shortly receive Blog names.
4. My mom invited pretty much all the influential women in my life over to pray for me and share 'words of wisdom'. The funny thing is, if all the people present in that room agreed on a course of action they all wanted me to take, I'd have a very hard time resisting them for any amount of time.
5. I visited Wheaton College as a prospective student
6. Oh, and I started taking piano and voice lessons again.
Overall, life has been a pretty interesting combonation of very busy but very laid back. I'm looking forward to college because while I will be taking a lot of classes over the course of this year (to the tune of three math classes, two science classes, three music classes, a political science class), I only have to take three of them at a time.
Oh, and by the way, I'm 18 now.
You see, folks, I am officially a college student. It's true. I am writing this in the computer lab at a local college near my house.
That's not actually why I am writing. See, it recently came to my attention that I had not posted on this blog since the end of July, and we are rapidly approaching the end of September.
So it seems I must apologize, friends, for the long and unexplained absence. I will try to explain it, but as I sit, I can barely remember eveything I've done in the interval.
Here's a highlight reel:
1. I had a waterfight to celebrate my birthday, but did not tell anyone its purpose.
2. I went on a short-term mission trip with YWAM to Gleanings for the Hungry
3. I was kidnapped for my birthday by Gray, Ophelia, and two new brothers who shall shortly receive Blog names.
4. My mom invited pretty much all the influential women in my life over to pray for me and share 'words of wisdom'. The funny thing is, if all the people present in that room agreed on a course of action they all wanted me to take, I'd have a very hard time resisting them for any amount of time.
5. I visited Wheaton College as a prospective student
6. Oh, and I started taking piano and voice lessons again.
Overall, life has been a pretty interesting combonation of very busy but very laid back. I'm looking forward to college because while I will be taking a lot of classes over the course of this year (to the tune of three math classes, two science classes, three music classes, a political science class), I only have to take three of them at a time.
Oh, and by the way, I'm 18 now.
19 September 2011
Yes This Is A Cult
A couple days ago, I was watching music videos on youtube. You might say that was a singularly unproductive use of my time. I might agree. But I will say, that is entirely beside the point.
So anyways. Music videos. There I was, watching this music video by one of Virgin Record's biggest bands. The song was decent. Nothing brilliant, but a solid song. A nice hook in the chorus -- "No! No! No! No!", but it wasn't crunchy enough to be memorable. When I went to look up the song again, I couldn't even remember what the hook was. But you get the picture. It was a typical rock song such as one might hear on the radio.
The video was what stood out to me. It starts with some of this band's fans talking about what music means to them, and then clips of the band's live performances around the world start to play. The cinematographer is very good. Whoever assembled the video included small captions on the clips, like you might see in scrapbook.
Little things like "This was an awesome day." But that wasn't what stood out to me. About halfway through the video is an image the main singer holding his hands out, silhouetted by bright stage lights. As the image fades, the words "Yes This is a Cult" appear, to be replaced the image of the singer.
That got me thinking. I've made the snarky comment about that being dangerous for me enough, so we'll skip directly to the thought.
Almost everywhere you look, major religions and civilizations use music as an offering of worship to their gods. It could be chanting; ringing of bells; beating of drums; modern evangelical Christian worship; rich harmonies -- what have you. Point is, music is almost universally acknowledged as one of the best ways to connect with the supernatural.
I would argue that it is one of the few natural realities that transcend mere physical reality. Music isn't merely noise: it's tonal patterns or rhythmic noises that somehow give humans pleasure. It's one of those sublime things, that, when done correctly, has the ability to elevate us from mere existence to something more beautiful. A click point, if you permit a return to old terminology.
For some reason, we view it as a worthy offering to God, the gods, fate, or whatever we happen to be worshiping at the time. And it's not surprising. Music can be sublime.
But watching the 30 Seconds to Mars video, I noticed something very interesting. The concert-goers were acting in much the same way as my church does when we really get into worship. Their hands were held in the air; they sang the words along with the band; they swayed in time to the music; and they responded to instructions from the band.
Yes This is A Cult.
If you're a long time reader of this blog, you've probably come to the realization that I am an artistic person. I don't say this to be self-satisfied or obnoxious. It's a reality of who God created me to be. I picked up an ocarina at the market a few weeks ago, and figured out how to play "My Heart Will Go On" by the end of the day. My parents gave me penny whistles for my birthday, and there's a similar story. But like I said, I'm not trying to say this to toot my own horn. Though I probably could after a couple tries. ;)
As a Christian, I know I have an artistic gifting to be used for God's glory. But it is a depressing realization to know that, were I not saved, I would still be very artistic. I am gifted, and so use that gifting in worship. But were I not a Christian, I would still be using the gift.
Yes This is a Cult
It all comes down to a question of motivations, really. Music is, by nature, very beautiful; very sublime. But music is NOT the end goal. And as a musician, I have to keep telling myself that. The people in the music video were not the concert as a way to glorify God; they were using it as a way to glorify Music.
"Some people believe in god: I believe in Music. You know, some people pray: I turn up the radio."
"Music makes the world go 'round, you know. And if it weren't for Music, I wouldn't be around right now. Music is EV- ERY - THING to me. That's all I can say."
Some fans said this in the end of the music video. I get where they are coming from. When I listen to good music, and I mean REALLY GOOD music, I tend to forget the mundane realities of every day life. I start to focus on the rhythms of the guitar, the nuances of the vocalist's inflections, the fills and frills of the drummer, the juggling of tracks in the mix. It calms and concentrates. Things, simple things like running on a treadmill, somehow seem more important if I've got some rock pounding in through my ear buds.
Motivation is what changes music from a sublime thing to the Ultimate thing. It's what changes it from a gift to a sin; from a pleasure to idolatry.
The musicians who go into the industry to "become famous" pretty obviously have their priorities messed up. But what about a little, simple enjoyment? Is it really so bad for us to just enjoy the momentum, to be caught up in three-minutes of pure bliss?
Maybe. I went to EMP (Experience Music Project) in Seattle for my birthday last week. I saw an exhibit filled with Jimi Hendrix collectibles - old guitars he'd smashed, stage outfits, the whole nine yards. One of the exhibit panels made the comment that the guitars Hendrix burned were often written with mantra-esque phrases, as a kind of spiritual offering to Music.
Yes This is a Cult
Well, obviously Hendrix was a little out there. But the musicians who just want to make Music, they're not so bad, right? The musicians who are in it because they just love to make Music... They're not treating it the wrong way, are they?
Obviously, you have to take this on an individual basis, but we have to realise that there is a very, very fine line between treating music as sublime and treating it as Ultimate.
Well, that may be well and good for all those silly people who listen to pop music. I mean, classical music was written Sola Deo Gloria, so we don't have to worry about idolatry.
WRONG. I fall into this assumption more often than I'd care to admit, but let's face it: the 1812 Overture can be just as inspiring as any rock standard. The musicians who devote their lives to rigorous training just to play classical music are in just as much danger of idolizing their music as the rock musicians who burn their guitars for Music.
Yes This is a Cult.
So anyways. Music videos. There I was, watching this music video by one of Virgin Record's biggest bands. The song was decent. Nothing brilliant, but a solid song. A nice hook in the chorus -- "No! No! No! No!", but it wasn't crunchy enough to be memorable. When I went to look up the song again, I couldn't even remember what the hook was. But you get the picture. It was a typical rock song such as one might hear on the radio.
The video was what stood out to me. It starts with some of this band's fans talking about what music means to them, and then clips of the band's live performances around the world start to play. The cinematographer is very good. Whoever assembled the video included small captions on the clips, like you might see in scrapbook.
That got me thinking. I've made the snarky comment about that being dangerous for me enough, so we'll skip directly to the thought.
Almost everywhere you look, major religions and civilizations use music as an offering of worship to their gods. It could be chanting; ringing of bells; beating of drums; modern evangelical Christian worship; rich harmonies -- what have you. Point is, music is almost universally acknowledged as one of the best ways to connect with the supernatural.
I would argue that it is one of the few natural realities that transcend mere physical reality. Music isn't merely noise: it's tonal patterns or rhythmic noises that somehow give humans pleasure. It's one of those sublime things, that, when done correctly, has the ability to elevate us from mere existence to something more beautiful. A click point, if you permit a return to old terminology.
For some reason, we view it as a worthy offering to God, the gods, fate, or whatever we happen to be worshiping at the time. And it's not surprising. Music can be sublime.
But watching the 30 Seconds to Mars video, I noticed something very interesting. The concert-goers were acting in much the same way as my church does when we really get into worship. Their hands were held in the air; they sang the words along with the band; they swayed in time to the music; and they responded to instructions from the band.
Yes This is A Cult.
If you're a long time reader of this blog, you've probably come to the realization that I am an artistic person. I don't say this to be self-satisfied or obnoxious. It's a reality of who God created me to be. I picked up an ocarina at the market a few weeks ago, and figured out how to play "My Heart Will Go On" by the end of the day. My parents gave me penny whistles for my birthday, and there's a similar story. But like I said, I'm not trying to say this to toot my own horn. Though I probably could after a couple tries. ;)
As a Christian, I know I have an artistic gifting to be used for God's glory. But it is a depressing realization to know that, were I not saved, I would still be very artistic. I am gifted, and so use that gifting in worship. But were I not a Christian, I would still be using the gift.
Yes This is a Cult
It all comes down to a question of motivations, really. Music is, by nature, very beautiful; very sublime. But music is NOT the end goal. And as a musician, I have to keep telling myself that. The people in the music video were not the concert as a way to glorify God; they were using it as a way to glorify Music.
"Some people believe in god: I believe in Music. You know, some people pray: I turn up the radio."
"Music makes the world go 'round, you know. And if it weren't for Music, I wouldn't be around right now. Music is EV- ERY - THING to me. That's all I can say."
Some fans said this in the end of the music video. I get where they are coming from. When I listen to good music, and I mean REALLY GOOD music, I tend to forget the mundane realities of every day life. I start to focus on the rhythms of the guitar, the nuances of the vocalist's inflections, the fills and frills of the drummer, the juggling of tracks in the mix. It calms and concentrates. Things, simple things like running on a treadmill, somehow seem more important if I've got some rock pounding in through my ear buds.
Motivation is what changes music from a sublime thing to the Ultimate thing. It's what changes it from a gift to a sin; from a pleasure to idolatry.
The musicians who go into the industry to "become famous" pretty obviously have their priorities messed up. But what about a little, simple enjoyment? Is it really so bad for us to just enjoy the momentum, to be caught up in three-minutes of pure bliss?
Maybe. I went to EMP (Experience Music Project) in Seattle for my birthday last week. I saw an exhibit filled with Jimi Hendrix collectibles - old guitars he'd smashed, stage outfits, the whole nine yards. One of the exhibit panels made the comment that the guitars Hendrix burned were often written with mantra-esque phrases, as a kind of spiritual offering to Music.
Yes This is a Cult
Well, obviously Hendrix was a little out there. But the musicians who just want to make Music, they're not so bad, right? The musicians who are in it because they just love to make Music... They're not treating it the wrong way, are they?
Obviously, you have to take this on an individual basis, but we have to realise that there is a very, very fine line between treating music as sublime and treating it as Ultimate.
Well, that may be well and good for all those silly people who listen to pop music. I mean, classical music was written Sola Deo Gloria, so we don't have to worry about idolatry.
WRONG. I fall into this assumption more often than I'd care to admit, but let's face it: the 1812 Overture can be just as inspiring as any rock standard. The musicians who devote their lives to rigorous training just to play classical music are in just as much danger of idolizing their music as the rock musicians who burn their guitars for Music.
Yes This is a Cult.
31 July 2011
to my fellow travelers
I don't really know what to say. You look great! What a great-looking bunch of people you all are. But there's such a gulf now between you and me. It wasn't an abrupt parting of ways, but more of a gradual drifting apart. Kind of like that sappy Celine Dion song - it's "Far across the distance and spaces between us."
I feel as if we're standing opposite sides of a wide abyss, too far to speak but close enough to wave. It's a bit like that Coldplay lyrics: "I feel like they're talking in a language I don't speak // and they're talking it to me." We're just standing here like mimes, making friendly signs across an impassable rift. It feels like we haven't really spoken in ages - ever since neglect started wearing away the rocks beneath our feet. And it's a down-right shame.
I can trace this drifting away to a very specific month. Your path shifted, and as you went in the new direction, my trail started changing, too. So when we came upon each other at this crossroads, we didn't know where the other had ventured. It's a little awkward, come to think about it. Like meeting your best friend from elementary school in the grocery store: we're not quite sure how we stand. Is this too chummy? Am I presuming a continued friendship? Am I being too formal?
And that's why I'm not quite sure what to say. Do you even want to continue where we left off? Things aren't going to be the same. Up to the divergence point, we had similar paths: homeschooling in highschool, maybe a little speech and debate, or a shared coop. But now, you've had experiences I can't share, and I've had ones I can't even begin to describe.
Maybe you've been reading this blog while our paths meandered away from each other. Maybe you think you've experienced everything with me as I went through it. I hope I'm not that easy to see through, but if you've been reading, you have a better chance at seeing this post.
I can't really describe where I'm at presently. In one way, my boundaries have lowered. But in another way, they are higher than they've ever been. In one way, I have more friends than I've ever had, but in another I've never been so alone. On the one hand, I've discovered myself in the position to lead, but on the other, I've never been so confused about where I'm going. While I speak more openly, my tongue also has dents from all the biting I've done. I'm more in shape but also more off-kilter. I share my ideas but not my thoughts. I learn from my mistakes and then blindly repeat them. I'm human. Aren't we all?
Here's the deal. I'd like to still be friends. But not if you continue to treat me as the person I was the last time we really talked. Just because I've been somewhere you haven't doesn't mean I want to tell you every single detail. And by the same token, I don't expect I'll ever understand every quest you've gone on during the parting of our ways.
I suppose we're both tired from our journeys, so why don't we just sit a spell and enjoy the companionship of old mates? We don't have to talk, but it'll be nice to have some company before heading off again.
B
I feel as if we're standing opposite sides of a wide abyss, too far to speak but close enough to wave. It's a bit like that Coldplay lyrics: "I feel like they're talking in a language I don't speak // and they're talking it to me." We're just standing here like mimes, making friendly signs across an impassable rift. It feels like we haven't really spoken in ages - ever since neglect started wearing away the rocks beneath our feet. And it's a down-right shame.
I can trace this drifting away to a very specific month. Your path shifted, and as you went in the new direction, my trail started changing, too. So when we came upon each other at this crossroads, we didn't know where the other had ventured. It's a little awkward, come to think about it. Like meeting your best friend from elementary school in the grocery store: we're not quite sure how we stand. Is this too chummy? Am I presuming a continued friendship? Am I being too formal?
And that's why I'm not quite sure what to say. Do you even want to continue where we left off? Things aren't going to be the same. Up to the divergence point, we had similar paths: homeschooling in highschool, maybe a little speech and debate, or a shared coop. But now, you've had experiences I can't share, and I've had ones I can't even begin to describe.
Maybe you've been reading this blog while our paths meandered away from each other. Maybe you think you've experienced everything with me as I went through it. I hope I'm not that easy to see through, but if you've been reading, you have a better chance at seeing this post.
I can't really describe where I'm at presently. In one way, my boundaries have lowered. But in another way, they are higher than they've ever been. In one way, I have more friends than I've ever had, but in another I've never been so alone. On the one hand, I've discovered myself in the position to lead, but on the other, I've never been so confused about where I'm going. While I speak more openly, my tongue also has dents from all the biting I've done. I'm more in shape but also more off-kilter. I share my ideas but not my thoughts. I learn from my mistakes and then blindly repeat them. I'm human. Aren't we all?
Here's the deal. I'd like to still be friends. But not if you continue to treat me as the person I was the last time we really talked. Just because I've been somewhere you haven't doesn't mean I want to tell you every single detail. And by the same token, I don't expect I'll ever understand every quest you've gone on during the parting of our ways.
I suppose we're both tired from our journeys, so why don't we just sit a spell and enjoy the companionship of old mates? We don't have to talk, but it'll be nice to have some company before heading off again.
B
30 June 2011
A day of firsts
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
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
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
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