Olympia Days 4 & 5

I'm tired, so I'll make this fairly short.

On Thursday, in Page School, we had a mock Ways and Mean committee meeting. Along with Mrs.Incredible and one House page, I was in the conservative minority, but my proposal passed! My budget proposal was that we deport the illegal immigrant offenders in our jails back to their country of origin, saving $ 9 million. Mrs. Incredible and the house page's proposals didn't pass because they were quite conservative. I surprised one of the teachers by voting for a 1% income tax proposal, which was incredibly funny. He said: "Problematic, I can't believe you voted for that. I'm surprised!" because I had voted against all the other tax increases in the committee.

Also on Thursday, protestors from Evergreen College and UW showed up. They brought a coffin to protest a proposed increase of tuition for state colleges to balance the budget - apparently they were burying state higher education. And then they started singing in the Senate Gallery, getting through a verse and a half before being thrown out. The WSP brought some bomb sniffing dogs and about twenty extra officers for security.

It completely figures that the one day I decided to wear pigtails (Friday) is the day my Senator requests me to do the flag ceremony. I carried the American Flag. Besides that, nothing out of the ordinary happened.

It's a lame update, I know.

My conclusion: Paging is awesome. I am now interested in the United States Senate Page program. And I totally recommend the experience to everyone.

Now, I'm going to sleep again for a while.
B

Olympia Day 3

Celebrate good times, come on!! Woohoo!! *skips merrily around computer room* So, I finally managed to hook up with my sponsoring Senator this morning. I made three appointments to meet with her with her staff these past two days, and finally one of them caught her in her office. She ushered me into her leather and light decorated office, and proceeded to make pleasant small talk. She asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up, but I have no real plans. Instead, I picked the one occupation I'm kind of interested in, and told her about it. Then she asked me where I'd study for the job. There's only one university in North America that offers the course... Yeah. When she heard that, my Senator talked about how attending out-of-state colleges is bad for the state because it draws the state's best and brightest away from our economy. Hence, I've got a new rule of living.

Rule 26: The riskier option is better than the safer option. Safer options lead to foot-in-mouth disease.

So, then I headed down to the Floor for the Senate page picture with the Lieutenant Governor, who didn't show up. Lame. And then it was time for floor duty. There was a resolution passed about Filipino Americans, which was considerably less lame than yesterday's, and the Senators voted on gubernatorial appointments before adjourning for caucuses. We waited for two hours, and then got another 40 minutes of nothing much. Thanks to paging, I have now lost all faith in the ability of my government to get anything done. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that the Senators and Representatives appear to be the only people on the Capital campus who aren't doing anything productive. But that's just my tired, ornery grumbling, so pay no attention.

Also today, one of the male pages started flirting with me. >.< Why must this keep happening to me? O.O I was playing a game of speed with him when suddenly:

"My gosh, you've got an absolutely gorgeous smile! I just couldn't not say that." Comments of that sort continued for the rest of the day. I'm mildly perturbed. My usual way of coping with guys like this is: "Why thank you. I appreciate the sentiment." And then continue to be polite but more guarded in my behavior. Unfortunately, it recently came to my attention that my 'politeness' comes off as flirtatious at times.  Which leaves me with the dilemma of being rude and ignoring him, or being polite (my natural inclination) and encouraging him. BOTHER!

Dad came and ate lunch with me and Mrs. Incredible. He brought flowers with him. I am now the proud possessor of a couple yellow roses and a yellow tulip. They're very pretty, but when he pulled them out of the car, I felt both special and spatial. It didn't quite connect that he was giving them to me. My first impulse was "Thank you. And where did you want these taken again?" but I suppressed the urge, fortunately.

A Senator asked the LEG Page Dispatch Station to have the pages write 20 things that make a good Senator and 20 things that make a good page down for him, so I completed the Senator list, but I'm having trouble with the page list. Oh well, I'll finish it tomorrow.

In Page School, we listened to a Moderate Republican lobbyist talk. It was very interesting, and I got him to elaborate on some philosophical topics. Glee!! Then, the pages finished budget bills we started yesterday. We had to write three proposals for reducing the WA State Budget, and I surprised my (liberal) teacher with the three options of : a. a 2% overall decrease of WA government funding, b. 8% decrease of healthcare for state and higher education employees, and c. the deportation of the 500-some illegal immigrant offenders in WA State prisons. When he got to option b, he started tsk-tsking. Most happy.

Well, I'm getting sleepy, so tata for now.

Also, guys - any suggestions for dealing with this page? Despite many experiences with this in the past, I'm still pretty clueless. :P

B

Olympia Days 1 and 2

Yay! It's time for an update!

Sunday evening, I arrived at my host house, only to start morbid jokes with the girl whose room I'm sharing. Most salubrious for me beloved zany mind. After getting about 5 hours of sleep, I woke up for my first day of paging.

When I arrived at the page room in the basement of the Republican Senate Offices, I received, to my boredom and chagrin, the same lecture I got in page orientation on Sunday. But the catnap I snagged during that hour helped. Then it was off to page school, where pages go to school! Yes I'm tired, no you may not quote me, now do stop talking and let me continue. As I was saying I toddled off to page school. Now, I'll give the teachers this: they really do *try* to be honest and non-biased, but the succeeding bit is where they have a hard time. The first day's lesson was about wealth and income, and by the end of the two hours, it was clear that my teachers were, at best, very liberal, and at worst, slightly socialist. But what else should I have expected? So I called them on the socialism thing, which they handily dodged and moved on.

My first delivery of the day was from a Senate office to the Floor. The office needed a page quickly, and when I arrived, slightly out of breath, a giant bouquet of daffodils was thrust in my hands. Apparently, the staff had forgotten the flowers before the Senator left that morning, and I was told to hurry to the Floor to rectify the situation. A half-hearted "And please, don't spill" ushered me out of the room.

The deliveries I made over the course of yesterday took me from the basement of the Majority Senate Offices to the Republican Caucus room, to the supply room in a sterile, stark basement that would make a great horror movie set. Not to mention the Temple of Justice, and the Legislative building.

You could tell if you were in the Republican or Democratic caucus just by what was decorating the offices: The Democrats have big pictures of JFK, Harry Truman, and company, and the Democratic party symbol which looks suspiciously like Obama's running logo. In one office, I was greeted by a life-sized cardboard cutout of President Obama - I jumped, and the secretary told me everyone did that when they saw him. The Republican offices, though, had yellow ribbons and American flags and dried rose buds in them. I get a kick out of them.

Due to a rather unfortunate packing error, I wore a pair of Dad's black socks instead of my own yesterday. I'm not sure you know this, but he has bigger feet than I do. And bigger socks. So while my shoes were quite comfortable, the socks were not. One slid down into my shoe, causing a rather uncomfortable blister on the first day.  Now, on to the second!

This morning, I woke up early just like before and got ready in the dark as my hosts slept. I stumbled out to the kitchen to grab a glass of water to take my tylenol with, and was surprised by the father of the house. I almost screamed. But I controlled the urge.

In the morning, I was scheduled to be on the Floor until lunch. However, the Senate didn't convene until 10:30, giving me a half-hour to go watch some of the Ways and Means committee meeting. Then when the Senate convened, I got to listen to a half-hour of Senators making Points of Personal Preference as they lauded the Navy guests we had today. Apparently today was Navy day, which explains the Navy Brass Band, the Navy Color Guard, and the large contingent of highly decorate, big-ranking type Navy officers. When the Senators were done, the interesting part ended. For the rest of the short Senate session, the Senators voted on a resolution acknowledging and praising the Apple Blossom Princesses and Queen of Wenatchee. Because apparently the Apple Blossom Princesses and Queen of Wenatchee are very important. So they passed the thingymajigg, and the Apple Blossom Queen of Wenatchee stood up to give a speech which I'm sure would have been really good if she had bothered to memorize it and make it sound human. Standards are slipping, I'm telling you. Standards are slipping.

You want to know what happened next?! The Democrats and the Republicans called caucuses and disappeared for the rest of the shift. All the pages played I Spy in the Rotunda while we waited for noon, though it was rather difficult considering that most of the colors there are pink, grey, gold, and green.

"I spy something green..."
"It's the State Flag."
"Rats."

It didn't seem like the best use of tax money resources for the Senate to pay us for sitting around on the steps for an hour, but hey, I don't mind. Though they got so desperate to find other colors in their game of I Spy that I had my eyes inspected a few times to discover if they were brown. :P

The other memorable thing that happened today was in Page School again. I succeeded in driving the conversation of "How should the state government balance its budget?" into an argument about the relative merits of privatizing education.

See, another page brought up the idea of completing doing away with public schools as a way to cut deficit spending (ie, debt). The more liberal teacher said something about 'Education is the number one priority of the Charter of Washington. You couldn't get rid of schools without ignoring our Constitution!" <---- At this point, my hand shot up in the air.

"Excuse me, but doesn't the Constitution state the education of its citizens should be encouraged and heped, but not that the government itself must be the one teaching?"

"Oh, so *you're* in favor of privatized schooling?"

I decided that for the sake of the argument yes, yes I was.

"Yup, Yellow Pages effect. If the government schools were a business, they'd be out of business by now."

"But it's too expensive."

And the conversation went on. I brought up some non-standard arguments, which they proceeded to refute with the rote memorization arguments. Finally, the teacher got ticked off with me.

"You know, this has been an interesting discussion, but you are a minority, and in a democracy, the majority is the one that makes the decisions."

I wasn't going to let her have the last word, let me tell you.

"Oh, but in a truly just government, democracy or otherwise, the majority works to protect and honor the opinions and beliefs of the minority."

Yes, really enjoyed myself in page school today.

And now, I must off to bed!
B

Sing Sing Sing

In honor of last weekend's swing dance, I present you with Sing, Sing, Sing by Benny Goodman. It's a classic swing song, but there are no words. When turned up loud, with a good recording and great speakers, it's absolutely amazing. Very energetic, and it sums up swing dancing's spirit very well.

Also, because I am in Olympia paging this week, I shall not make my posts long.

Enjoy!

It don't mean a thing...

 Last Friday was a pretty amazing swing dance. It was themed as 1946, which was quite fun. It lasted five hours, and I had a grand old time getting ready at Lady Specs' house previous to the dance. As I just stated, I really enjoyed myself, though a few ... unusual circumstances made the evening more than memorable. So let's go in chronological order.

Upon arriving at the dance, I reacquainted myself with a young man I met through a music camp, who I shall call D. D recognized me more quickly than I him, and we had a pleasant conversation. The instruction session ended, and the dance began in earnest. I was asked to dance a few times, on one occasion by D. Who asked again 30 minutes later. And then, again. And yet again. I believe I danced with him more than anyone else at the event. And at the end of the night as we began tearing down the grange hall, D approached me and said: 'So, if I come to more of these dances, will I be able to see you again?" O.0 That was a bit cringe-worthy. I just hope I handled it well. >.>

Also, I was pleasantly surprised to see some of the guys from my club there. I was less pleasantly surprised to see them not dancing. Due to extreme high spirits that night, I pulled out my trusty guilt-trip skills, and voila! As a side note, I am very, very proud of Cassandra's younger brother who attended the dance. He asked several young ladies who had not danced much that night to dance with him. Ach, so proud! So I guilt-tripped three young men into dancing. They may hate me now, but in my defense, it built their character.

One of the more unusual memories from that evening was dancing with a hot dog. Alright, not actually dancing with a hot dog. More like, dancing with a guy who was eating a hot dog in one hand and attempted to dance with the other. Yeah, interesting times.

However, the highlight of the evening was dancing to Sing, Sing, Sing. It's a swing dance staple, but because at most dances I sit out, I've never danced to it. And it really is an amazing song, with all the drums in it. ... So I did ask the guy to dance with me, but he didn't mind! :blush: Most enjoyable.

Overall, it was a surprisingly enjoyable evening. There are many other details which would no doubt bore you, but that was the brief overview. Although I fear I may have made myself out a liar: I danced so often on Friday I can't remember how many times I danced. New personal record, methinks.

B, who must get ready for paging tomorrow

You know there was a tournament last weekend, right? Well, I observed something interesting at the tournament: Parents I had never met before came up and introduced themselves. Nothing out of the ordinary there, but they already knew my name. O.0

Hobbes and Escapists' mom, for instance. I was talking with Calvin's mom, and as the conversation ended, a nice looking woman with a few children clustered around her came up to me.

"Oh, [Problematic's real name]! I'm Mrs. Winslow! It's so nice to meet you at last." There was handshaking involved, but the entire time, I couldn't help wondering: How did she know my name, and what was tales of horror and shock had Escapist and Hobbes and M told her to put that weird intonation in her last words? I have an inkling as to the first question, but not for the second.

The next time this happened was later on Friday. Once again, a mother came up to me, introduced herself, and her tone implied prior knowledge of my exploits.

Goodness! What have I been doing to the poor kids at speech?
B (who is channeling Jedi Gerbils)

*sigh of relief*

If it seems as if I disappeared from the world for the past week, there's a very good reason for that. I had another tournament that ended Saturday. The week leading up to the tournament was filled with preparations, as usual, though the amount of preparation I had to do was out of the ordinary.

You see, this tournament, I iron-manned. I competed in Impromptu, Extemp, OO, Persuasive, Thematic, and LD debate. I broke in three of the six, which isn't a bad record after all. Let me explain. There are three types of rounds: Debate rounds, Pattern A rounds, and Pattern B rounds. I was in all three. Which meant that I had lots of running around to do.

That wouldn't have been half bad if it weren't for ::looks around for suitable adjective:: incredibly annoying, painful, and demanding social normative ideals concerning women's professional dress codes. Specifically, the ones about heels. I brought flat shoes to wear in between events, but since there wasn't much 'in between events' for me, my shin splints now have shin splints. Fortunately, my feet have finally readjusted to being flat, though it's always an odd transition: I've got major issues with my feet, and heels are not exactly conducive to pain-free living. :P

I spent Thursday and Friday madly running from one event to the other, but Saturday not so much, which made it an 'off day', except it wasn't. See, I broke in extemporaneous, the current events event. This is entirely amazing considering that out of seven possible minutes of speaking, I usually filled about five. Also, although I did extemp two years ago, I never competed with it at a qualifying tournament, so the tournament this weekend was only my second time doing it. It was completely surprising. Since Extemp takes roughly 40 minutes to do (30 minutes prep, seven minute speech) I was late to the other speech I broke in. In semis, I arrived at the room only to discover that two of the three judges had gone for lunch while waiting.

Well, I'm slowly recovering from the tournament, though I've got a post-tourny cold coming on. Oh, joy. I think I'll toddle off to class now.

Yawns,
B

Hard Hats Required Beyond This Point

I mentioned yesterday that I've been cleaning my room. However, the more proper word at this point would be excavating. I cleared the topsoil away, as usual, but this time, I braved the collected junk from last time I did major room renovations.

Last time I did something huge with my room was hmm, 6-7 years ago, roughly. Back then, my idea of 'good taste' in decorating involved cutting out pictures of twee baby animals with really bad (not groan bad, just not funny) puns and taping them to the walls. Of course, not overlapping all of my ballet posters. I had drawers full of junk, and any posters that weren't on the walls were shoved underneath my bed. However, since I decided to take out my desk and move the bed, I had to disturb this sediment sufficiently to get work done.

As a result, later on in the evening (or should I say early in the morning?) two large black trash bags bulging at the seams appeared outside my room. I finally got around to disposing of all that junk. To get an idea of why I call it junk, though, let me tell you of some of the items inside.

There was a tissue I colored with red markers to look like a bloody tissue - I've had that for years. There were boxes and boxes of plastic jewelry, and there were all sorts of odds and ends: miniature American Girl magazines, old, unused toothbrushes, and some crocheted dog sweaters, toy poodle sized.

And they're finally gone! It's amazing how great it is not to have the hoard of a 10-year-old packrat gathering dust in my room. Now, I've still got the huge collection of china dolls sitting atop my clothes closet, but I've gotten used to that: I no longer wake up at night thinking that one of them is moving and about to turn into a murderer on me. They can move around all they want now.

Oh, I nearly forgot. The other reason for celebration is that almost all the lights in my room work now! Puella "Fiat," inquit "lux!." Luxque erat.

Yes, I am unreasonably happy. But I'm not ashamed. If you've had to live with 'bloody' tissues for the past 6 years, you'd be glad to be rid of them too.

B, who must go dust off.

Music Tuesday?

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

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

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

St. Valentine's Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

B

Grab Bag 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of school work,
B

[expression of amusement]

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

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

B

Chew on this

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

~John Donne

Same Diff

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do you have any thoughts?
B

Victoriam Speramus

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

Victoriam Speramus


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

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

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

Victoriam speramus
Cantate tibi itam!
Concordiam optamus
Iuvate liberatem!

Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus nunc

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

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

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

Victoriam speramus
Cantate tibi itam!
Concordiam optamus
Iuvate liberatem!

Victoriam speramus
Negate sub versorem!
Concordiam optamus nunc

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

Victoriam speramus
Cantate tibi itam!
Concordiam optamus
Iuvate liberatem!

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

Venture

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

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

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

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

This, meanwhile, is how it should look:

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

B

Wood

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

B

Igor

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

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

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

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


Preposterous B

Till Kingdom Come

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Grab Bag of Assorted Things

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

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

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

[fluid and witty transition here]

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

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

I do believe that is all.

Good day!
B

Teenage Angst

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

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

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

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

B

Mmm, delicious

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

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

Guilty feeling's still not gone.

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

Oh, it's still delicious.

B

Concerning tournaments

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

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

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

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

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

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

'ta,
B

Return To Pooh Corner

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hair

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

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

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

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

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

B

Tournament

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

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

B

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


okay, I'm good.

Lusus Naturae

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

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

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


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

B

The Hazards of Love 4

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Dance!

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

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

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

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

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

B

Problematic's Rules of Living, part 2

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

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

B

New Header

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

Your life may continue as normal.

B

Results

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

Peace,
B

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

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

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

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

B

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

LOVE <3

freedom

wisdom

joy

Honor

courage

strive

fight

armor

justice

Knight

Lady

Art

virtue

peace

Act

gentle

HOPE

CHRIST 

learn

LOVE

LOVE

Friendship

grace

trust

truth

melody

Art is Beauty

together

peace

quiet

lady

patince

honesty

lies

faith

CREATE

LOVE

real

genuine

true

joy

goodness

kind

truth

Soul

knight

happiness

Music

LOVE

flame

fire

burn

hot

fear

destruction

raze

rubble

rocks

sleep

despair

Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep

quiet

death

peace

cold

slumber

quiet

quiet

LOVE

Mercy

sacrifice

preserve

redeem

savior

mighty

live

survive

create

warm

eternity

forever

always

life

good

quiet

coffee

milk

tea

And then on the back:

Ever Dream

Remember Me

My eyes are dry

For the Heart I'll never Have

tears

rescue

Find Me

HOPE

fallen angel

death before dishonor

Music is Life

drums in the deep

listen

the music plays

music in the blood

DRUMS

hear them playing

pounding

ringing

watch

the sobs of the violins wound my heart

watch

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

free air hugs for everyone!

B

Persuasive

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

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

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

B

Classical Music

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

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

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

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

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

B

I am Stretched on Your Grave

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

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



I am Stretched on Your Grave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Defenestration

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

B

Tournament Time!

Let the tournament season hereby begin!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

B

Music Catalogs

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

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

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

Excited

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

Definitions

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

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


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


Is everyone ghoul with this? Awesome.

B

Friends, cont

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

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

B

Erm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

B

Wondering Where the Lions Are

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


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

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

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

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


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

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


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

Tag

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

B