What I've been doing since I last did a proper update:
1. had a black belt test
2. got promoted in the all-grades
3. wrote a story for Creative Writing
4. did a final for English
5. Wished profusely that spring break would hurry up and get here already
6. started a film class
7. did a very weird commercial in said film class
8. went to districts with chorus
That's all the important stuff, anyway. I'll try to post more, I swear!!! It's just been hard, when my life has been taken over by a journal!!!
Friday, March 26, 2010
journaling
I know, I'm very bad at posting regularly. I should work on that. I have also been journaling a LOT, which accounts for most of the lack of posting. I have seriously been trying to finish a 400 page journal in 40 days. Well, 212 pages were left when I started for Lent. Now there are 106, and it's been a real pain in the butt to try to finish it before Easter. I'm not going to, I have decided - I'm going to let it finish whenever I feel like finishing it. I have already bought the next journal that I'm going to use, but I don't really care. I'm going to just wait and see what happens. And not dedicate what little social life I have to filling out a journal, because eventually, there's going to be nothing to write about because I'll have been writing too much to notice anything that's been going on. So I'm not going to write in my journal as much anymore. I don't know where my life went while I was busy scribbling in that thing, I swear. What life there was, anyway.
Anyway, moving on with life.
Anyway, moving on with life.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Pandora
This is a story I wrote. I know that it is not done yet. I have to do it for Creative Writing. So... yeah. It'll be kind of obvious why her name is Pandora after a while...
First her name was Anaitis, then it was Ananke, and now it's Pandora.
So here it is.
I was nervous, the first day at the English mansion. Okay, I was downright terrified. I was- I am- an orphan. My mother insisted I learned to cook and clean, believing that I should marry and be a housewife by the time I was 22; I saw the way my friends at school had it at home, and decided that I would never marry and be said housewife- I would make it as a journalist, a novelist, concert pianist, opera singer, whatever it took- until I could reasonably support myself. My mother wanted me to be very feminine. I didn’t care. I was closer to my dad, anyway.
When I was ten, my parents died in a car crash, and I was sent to an orphanage. The eight year olds, or anyone else, for that matter, didn’t respect me at all; the only attention I got from anyone was from the aggressive teenagers, who constantly picked on me. Eventually I had to- and did- learn to fight back. So much for being feminine. My schedule always seemed to consist of clean, cook, school, clean, cook, fight, sleep, repeat. It’s what everyone did, every kid for himself all the while. The orphanage acknowledged birthdays with a cupcake and extra punches to the shoulder.
Several years later, Charles English decided he wanted to foster an orphan to help his “public image.” In all honesty, it was probably a lowly secretary’s idea. Anyway, I was the paper girl while I was at the orphanage- I had more time after the teens got adopted and I wanted pocket money to buy journals and pencils and such, being an aspiring writer myself- that’s the only way I knew who the heck he was. It was usually his name in the byline of the front page article. It was also “Charles English” by the words “editor-in-chief” of the nationwide literary magazine, Word. Every unpublished author who had ever seen any literary magazines, blogs, or anything of that kind knew that Word was the magazine you needed to submit to in order to get a glance from the big-name publishers- Scholastics, Random House, Penguin, all those huge publishing companies read Word, just like all the reading nerds and the kids with big writing dreams. Kids like me. Anyone was allowed to submit, even the twelve-year-olds, as long as they had a parent or guardian sign a form off the internet. The only thing that kept me from submitting to Word was that signature, and the lack of a computer – the composition had to be typed.
Charles English himself was said to be quite a character himself - not only was he a journalist and an editor, he was also a novelist. His books sold like hotcakes among the fantasy fans, because they were amazingly vivid and the plots were incredibly complex yet deceptively simple. It was impossible to say how he did it. Not only was he able to write an amazing story, he could do it in about a month.
The most amazing thing about Charles English, though, was not in his writing ability, although that in itself was very considerable, and not in his prestige as an editor and journalist. The amazing thing was that he was able to build up a fortune in the newspapers and literary world by the time he was 25. I, like everyone else, wanted desperately to know how he did it, to meet him and find out what his secret was.
Well, in order to foster an orphan, Charles English would need to find an orphanage. Well, more correctly, his lowliest secretary’s intern would have to find us. Mr. English didn’t bother going out himself - he was too busy writing and editing and interviewing to have time to care about that.
Well, Sarah the Intern found us, all right. She seemed to think, well, wouldn’t it be dandy if she could get someone a bit older, so then she could boss them around for the summer, or however long they’re staying, and not feel terrible about it? That’s how she got me. I was fifteen at the time, but I considered myself to be sixteen- it would be my birthday in three weeks, anyway.
Sarah the Intern didn’t even bother to wait for me once the sponsorship was finalized. She just told me to be at the mansion at 3:15 sharp the next day. After giving me the address and phone number, she took her prissy self and her prissy car and drove away from the orphanage as fast as she seemed to legally be allowed to.
I told the paper people the next morning that that day was my last, collected my last paycheck, and turned in my bike. I packed up my stuff - two sets of clothes, three pens, one journal, and the few other bare necessities I owned - into my beaten-up backpack, laced up my very old hi-tops, and walked the ten miles out to where the country lanes and huge sets of land dominated the landscape. It took the better part of an hour and a half. I had banked on that, but it was still annoying - first I had to find the right turnoff, each a half a mile after the next, then I had to walk up the super-long driveway, which took ten minutes by itself.
As I walked up the path, I couldn’t help but gawk. There was so much SPACE here. The only figures were trees; the only sound was the chirping of birds.
When I finally arrived at the house, I halted and stared for a full five minutes. It was the biggest house I had ever seen in my life, and I’d seen some pretty big houses. It had to be at least a hundred yards across, and could have put the White House to shame. It was at least four stories tall. There was a huge fountain in front, and one of those circular driveways around it. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
The house itself looked 1700’s-ish, but I couldn’t be sure - they never showed us pictures of the actual house that Thomas Jefferson and all those people lived in when the teachers talked about the American Revolution.
On the steps stood Sarah the Intern waiting for me, her dark hair in a tight bun and her eyes narrowed; she wore a tailored suit and carried a clipboard.
“You’re late,” she snapped at me, glaring down the steps like a hawk. “You were supposed to be here half an hour ago.”
“But you said I should be here at 3:15,” I replied, glancing at my watch uncertainly. She had said that, right?
“No, I am quite sure I said that I said 2:45,” she barked, glancing at her clipboard.
“Ma’am, I’m quite sure you said 3:15,” I replied as politely as I could. This lady took stuff too seriously. Maybe that’s what you had to do in the real world. In that case, I’d prefer to be the one who was the boss, not the other way around.
I saw Sarah’s face twist as she frowned at what appeared to be a schedule. Apparently, this lady also did not like to be wrong. “Very well,” she said shortly. “Follow me, and don’t touch anything.” I ran to mount the steps two at a time and followed her.
If the outside was huge, the inside of the manor was enormous. There was so much space - the tiled floors stretched for at least a hundred feet before reaching the double doors at the other end of the hall. As I raced to keep up with Sarah, I glanced down the halls branching off of the main one that we were in. Judging by the peeks I was able to steal, the layout was similar to that of the board game Clue.
Sarah led me briskly through the enormous mansion, rattling off information as she went - my room was on the third floor; the kitchen was the last door in the basement; I was not to disturb Mr. English unless it was an emergency or he asked me to; everything on the other side of the door closest to the Window Stairs on the second floor was strictly forbidden for reasons I wasn’t allowed to hear about. Mr. English was only to be referred to as such - Charles was too friendly, Charlie was only for his mother and closest friends to use, and Dad was not allowed because I wasn’t staying forever and we weren’t related. I wouldn’t get to meet him for quite a while, either - he was out doing interviews or penning his next bestselling novel or something like that.
Well, as my luck would have it, my room was the second-to-last door on the right on the third floor facing the Western Perimeter - it was at the complete opposite end of the house from the Window Stairs and the mysterious room nearby. There were also security cameras and night watches, Sarah informed me, so there would be no option of me sneaking over to investigate in the middle of the night. Like the rest of the staff, Sarah lived at the mansion, even though she was only an intern.
She also informed me, as she showed me the room in which I was to sleep, that the previous day, she had purchased an entirely new wardrobe for me out of Mr. English’s budget and on his orders; she apparently knew that I had only two other sets of clothes and underpants. I was grateful for this. She also informed me that she needed my shoe size so she could buy me some new converses.
There was more to gawk at inside my room. It was also enormous, with a walk-in closet, a queen-sized four-poster bed, and a large writing desk with floor room to spare. The entire room seemed to have a color theme of green, though it was sort of discreetly done - the carpet was yellow shot through with lime; the hangings on the bed were similar, but with black and emerald. The bedding was a grassy sort of shade striped with turquoise; the walls were painted in a yellow-tinted sort of greenish-brown – the color leaves go when there’s light going through them in the summer. There were colors other than green, of course, but they were mostly the browns of the woodwork. If the windows hadn’t opened onto sloping, perfectly manicured lawns with a view of the river, it would have felt like I’d walked into a forest clearing that had been handily equipped with a very nice set of bedroom furniture.
On the desk, I found a laptop and an envelope with “Pandora” written on the front in formal-looking blue ink. It couldn’t be for anyone else but me - I don’t know anybody else named after a minor Greek goddess. It looked as if it had been written on personal stationary, and some pretty snazzy stationary at that. I was hoping it was from Charles… er, Mr. English.
Opening the note, I saw that it was, indeed, from the master of the house, but it was also rather short.
June 6
Dear Pandora,
I hope this letter finds you well. I am very glad that you will be joining my household for the summer. I am sorry that I was not able to greet you in person- I am a very busy man, as you probably have guessed. I hope that I will be able to meet you soon.
However, I must inform you of something rather important before you begin your stay. There is a power in this house that you will not find anywhere else. Many of my staff says that it is only I who feel the force of this unknown entity, but I can assure you that it is quite real. Therefore, I must implore you to avoid the room by the Window Stairs at all costs- it is where the power resides, and it does not like being disturbed by characters it is not familiar with.
I know you must think me rather insane for still believing in magic and mystery, but as you are a girl who is named for a girl renowned for being curious and going where she is not supposed to, I implore you to use your head when you pass the door in question.
That is all I have to say for the matter. I hope you enjoy your stay.
Yours sincerely,
Charles English
And that was the end of it, just like that. If truth be told, I honestly couldn’t believe that there was magic in the house. I mean, I have an imagination and all, and I believe in magic, to an extent, but Charles English? Warning me about magic in his house? I mean, the guy’s a writer, you’ve got to give him that, but there really couldn’t be actual magic in his house, could there? That would be the craziest thing that’s happened since Cronus barfed up Zeus and all his other kids, and believe me - some pretty crazy stuff has happened since then.
I spent the rest of the day exploring the huge house. I forced myself not to take the Window Staircase as a rule, just to prevent myself from passing the second floor, going into the Magic Room of Death, and pissing off whatever was in there.
Around five in the evening, I discovered the sprawling gardens in the back. I swear it was like something out of The Secret Garden- it was like a maze of six-foot-high hedges lined with flowers. I wondered to myself, jokingly, whether the Magic Room of Death actually harbored a sick and irritated nephew of Mr. English’s who was the real “power of the house” because he was so bossy, like Colin in the book.
Since I was paying more attention to my fantasies of Magic Death Rooms than where I was walking, I nearly ran into a gardener who had stood back for a moment to inspect the hedge that he’d just clipped. I stumbled back and muttered an apology to the bit of sidewalk by his foot, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. I could feel my face going red. I don’t know why – no dude had ever made me red before, exempting the time this one kid bit me when I was twelve.
“Oh, are you the new girl?” the gardener asked pleasantly.
“Yes,” I said, looking up into his face. It was tanned by the sun, with gentle, dark eyes laughing out from behind a shaggy mane of black hair. He was also smiling – it was one of those smiles that you can’t help returning. He looked no older than seventeen.
“I’m Bryan,” he said, removing a gardening glove and holding out his hand to shake. “Bryan Armstrong.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said as politely as I could, shaking his hand, which was huge, by the way. “I’m Pandora Wilson.”
“But… aren’t you an orphan?” he asked.
“Well, I still keep my parent’s name until I get adopted,” I said as casually as possible. “Until I get a proper family. Then I get their name.”
“Right,” Bryan said, somewhat awkwardly.
“Yep,” I said, unsure of what to say now. This was the first guy with whom I’d actually had an okay conversation, not counting my boss for the paper routes. But this was also a guy who was kind of attractive – there was something about his eyes that you could get lost in.
“So… how old are you, out of curiosity?” Bryan asked, as if he were just trying to make conversation.
“I’ll be sixteen on the 21st,” I said. “You?”
“I’m seventeen,” he said simply.
Well, after that, Bryan showed me around the gardens, rattling off information as he went – the Garden Maze alone was four acres; the entire property was about twenty. Mr. English rarely came out of the study, according to Bryan, and he rarely even came out of the house in general, for that matter. Bryan didn’t see why there should be twenty acres of ground to be maintained if the owner wasn’t going to walk around and enjoy them. To be honest, I have to agree.
First her name was Anaitis, then it was Ananke, and now it's Pandora.
So here it is.
I was nervous, the first day at the English mansion. Okay, I was downright terrified. I was- I am- an orphan. My mother insisted I learned to cook and clean, believing that I should marry and be a housewife by the time I was 22; I saw the way my friends at school had it at home, and decided that I would never marry and be said housewife- I would make it as a journalist, a novelist, concert pianist, opera singer, whatever it took- until I could reasonably support myself. My mother wanted me to be very feminine. I didn’t care. I was closer to my dad, anyway.
When I was ten, my parents died in a car crash, and I was sent to an orphanage. The eight year olds, or anyone else, for that matter, didn’t respect me at all; the only attention I got from anyone was from the aggressive teenagers, who constantly picked on me. Eventually I had to- and did- learn to fight back. So much for being feminine. My schedule always seemed to consist of clean, cook, school, clean, cook, fight, sleep, repeat. It’s what everyone did, every kid for himself all the while. The orphanage acknowledged birthdays with a cupcake and extra punches to the shoulder.
Several years later, Charles English decided he wanted to foster an orphan to help his “public image.” In all honesty, it was probably a lowly secretary’s idea. Anyway, I was the paper girl while I was at the orphanage- I had more time after the teens got adopted and I wanted pocket money to buy journals and pencils and such, being an aspiring writer myself- that’s the only way I knew who the heck he was. It was usually his name in the byline of the front page article. It was also “Charles English” by the words “editor-in-chief” of the nationwide literary magazine, Word. Every unpublished author who had ever seen any literary magazines, blogs, or anything of that kind knew that Word was the magazine you needed to submit to in order to get a glance from the big-name publishers- Scholastics, Random House, Penguin, all those huge publishing companies read Word, just like all the reading nerds and the kids with big writing dreams. Kids like me. Anyone was allowed to submit, even the twelve-year-olds, as long as they had a parent or guardian sign a form off the internet. The only thing that kept me from submitting to Word was that signature, and the lack of a computer – the composition had to be typed.
Charles English himself was said to be quite a character himself - not only was he a journalist and an editor, he was also a novelist. His books sold like hotcakes among the fantasy fans, because they were amazingly vivid and the plots were incredibly complex yet deceptively simple. It was impossible to say how he did it. Not only was he able to write an amazing story, he could do it in about a month.
The most amazing thing about Charles English, though, was not in his writing ability, although that in itself was very considerable, and not in his prestige as an editor and journalist. The amazing thing was that he was able to build up a fortune in the newspapers and literary world by the time he was 25. I, like everyone else, wanted desperately to know how he did it, to meet him and find out what his secret was.
Well, in order to foster an orphan, Charles English would need to find an orphanage. Well, more correctly, his lowliest secretary’s intern would have to find us. Mr. English didn’t bother going out himself - he was too busy writing and editing and interviewing to have time to care about that.
Well, Sarah the Intern found us, all right. She seemed to think, well, wouldn’t it be dandy if she could get someone a bit older, so then she could boss them around for the summer, or however long they’re staying, and not feel terrible about it? That’s how she got me. I was fifteen at the time, but I considered myself to be sixteen- it would be my birthday in three weeks, anyway.
Sarah the Intern didn’t even bother to wait for me once the sponsorship was finalized. She just told me to be at the mansion at 3:15 sharp the next day. After giving me the address and phone number, she took her prissy self and her prissy car and drove away from the orphanage as fast as she seemed to legally be allowed to.
I told the paper people the next morning that that day was my last, collected my last paycheck, and turned in my bike. I packed up my stuff - two sets of clothes, three pens, one journal, and the few other bare necessities I owned - into my beaten-up backpack, laced up my very old hi-tops, and walked the ten miles out to where the country lanes and huge sets of land dominated the landscape. It took the better part of an hour and a half. I had banked on that, but it was still annoying - first I had to find the right turnoff, each a half a mile after the next, then I had to walk up the super-long driveway, which took ten minutes by itself.
As I walked up the path, I couldn’t help but gawk. There was so much SPACE here. The only figures were trees; the only sound was the chirping of birds.
When I finally arrived at the house, I halted and stared for a full five minutes. It was the biggest house I had ever seen in my life, and I’d seen some pretty big houses. It had to be at least a hundred yards across, and could have put the White House to shame. It was at least four stories tall. There was a huge fountain in front, and one of those circular driveways around it. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
The house itself looked 1700’s-ish, but I couldn’t be sure - they never showed us pictures of the actual house that Thomas Jefferson and all those people lived in when the teachers talked about the American Revolution.
On the steps stood Sarah the Intern waiting for me, her dark hair in a tight bun and her eyes narrowed; she wore a tailored suit and carried a clipboard.
“You’re late,” she snapped at me, glaring down the steps like a hawk. “You were supposed to be here half an hour ago.”
“But you said I should be here at 3:15,” I replied, glancing at my watch uncertainly. She had said that, right?
“No, I am quite sure I said that I said 2:45,” she barked, glancing at her clipboard.
“Ma’am, I’m quite sure you said 3:15,” I replied as politely as I could. This lady took stuff too seriously. Maybe that’s what you had to do in the real world. In that case, I’d prefer to be the one who was the boss, not the other way around.
I saw Sarah’s face twist as she frowned at what appeared to be a schedule. Apparently, this lady also did not like to be wrong. “Very well,” she said shortly. “Follow me, and don’t touch anything.” I ran to mount the steps two at a time and followed her.
If the outside was huge, the inside of the manor was enormous. There was so much space - the tiled floors stretched for at least a hundred feet before reaching the double doors at the other end of the hall. As I raced to keep up with Sarah, I glanced down the halls branching off of the main one that we were in. Judging by the peeks I was able to steal, the layout was similar to that of the board game Clue.
Sarah led me briskly through the enormous mansion, rattling off information as she went - my room was on the third floor; the kitchen was the last door in the basement; I was not to disturb Mr. English unless it was an emergency or he asked me to; everything on the other side of the door closest to the Window Stairs on the second floor was strictly forbidden for reasons I wasn’t allowed to hear about. Mr. English was only to be referred to as such - Charles was too friendly, Charlie was only for his mother and closest friends to use, and Dad was not allowed because I wasn’t staying forever and we weren’t related. I wouldn’t get to meet him for quite a while, either - he was out doing interviews or penning his next bestselling novel or something like that.
Well, as my luck would have it, my room was the second-to-last door on the right on the third floor facing the Western Perimeter - it was at the complete opposite end of the house from the Window Stairs and the mysterious room nearby. There were also security cameras and night watches, Sarah informed me, so there would be no option of me sneaking over to investigate in the middle of the night. Like the rest of the staff, Sarah lived at the mansion, even though she was only an intern.
She also informed me, as she showed me the room in which I was to sleep, that the previous day, she had purchased an entirely new wardrobe for me out of Mr. English’s budget and on his orders; she apparently knew that I had only two other sets of clothes and underpants. I was grateful for this. She also informed me that she needed my shoe size so she could buy me some new converses.
There was more to gawk at inside my room. It was also enormous, with a walk-in closet, a queen-sized four-poster bed, and a large writing desk with floor room to spare. The entire room seemed to have a color theme of green, though it was sort of discreetly done - the carpet was yellow shot through with lime; the hangings on the bed were similar, but with black and emerald. The bedding was a grassy sort of shade striped with turquoise; the walls were painted in a yellow-tinted sort of greenish-brown – the color leaves go when there’s light going through them in the summer. There were colors other than green, of course, but they were mostly the browns of the woodwork. If the windows hadn’t opened onto sloping, perfectly manicured lawns with a view of the river, it would have felt like I’d walked into a forest clearing that had been handily equipped with a very nice set of bedroom furniture.
On the desk, I found a laptop and an envelope with “Pandora” written on the front in formal-looking blue ink. It couldn’t be for anyone else but me - I don’t know anybody else named after a minor Greek goddess. It looked as if it had been written on personal stationary, and some pretty snazzy stationary at that. I was hoping it was from Charles… er, Mr. English.
Opening the note, I saw that it was, indeed, from the master of the house, but it was also rather short.
June 6
Dear Pandora,
I hope this letter finds you well. I am very glad that you will be joining my household for the summer. I am sorry that I was not able to greet you in person- I am a very busy man, as you probably have guessed. I hope that I will be able to meet you soon.
However, I must inform you of something rather important before you begin your stay. There is a power in this house that you will not find anywhere else. Many of my staff says that it is only I who feel the force of this unknown entity, but I can assure you that it is quite real. Therefore, I must implore you to avoid the room by the Window Stairs at all costs- it is where the power resides, and it does not like being disturbed by characters it is not familiar with.
I know you must think me rather insane for still believing in magic and mystery, but as you are a girl who is named for a girl renowned for being curious and going where she is not supposed to, I implore you to use your head when you pass the door in question.
That is all I have to say for the matter. I hope you enjoy your stay.
Yours sincerely,
Charles English
And that was the end of it, just like that. If truth be told, I honestly couldn’t believe that there was magic in the house. I mean, I have an imagination and all, and I believe in magic, to an extent, but Charles English? Warning me about magic in his house? I mean, the guy’s a writer, you’ve got to give him that, but there really couldn’t be actual magic in his house, could there? That would be the craziest thing that’s happened since Cronus barfed up Zeus and all his other kids, and believe me - some pretty crazy stuff has happened since then.
I spent the rest of the day exploring the huge house. I forced myself not to take the Window Staircase as a rule, just to prevent myself from passing the second floor, going into the Magic Room of Death, and pissing off whatever was in there.
Around five in the evening, I discovered the sprawling gardens in the back. I swear it was like something out of The Secret Garden- it was like a maze of six-foot-high hedges lined with flowers. I wondered to myself, jokingly, whether the Magic Room of Death actually harbored a sick and irritated nephew of Mr. English’s who was the real “power of the house” because he was so bossy, like Colin in the book.
Since I was paying more attention to my fantasies of Magic Death Rooms than where I was walking, I nearly ran into a gardener who had stood back for a moment to inspect the hedge that he’d just clipped. I stumbled back and muttered an apology to the bit of sidewalk by his foot, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. I could feel my face going red. I don’t know why – no dude had ever made me red before, exempting the time this one kid bit me when I was twelve.
“Oh, are you the new girl?” the gardener asked pleasantly.
“Yes,” I said, looking up into his face. It was tanned by the sun, with gentle, dark eyes laughing out from behind a shaggy mane of black hair. He was also smiling – it was one of those smiles that you can’t help returning. He looked no older than seventeen.
“I’m Bryan,” he said, removing a gardening glove and holding out his hand to shake. “Bryan Armstrong.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said as politely as I could, shaking his hand, which was huge, by the way. “I’m Pandora Wilson.”
“But… aren’t you an orphan?” he asked.
“Well, I still keep my parent’s name until I get adopted,” I said as casually as possible. “Until I get a proper family. Then I get their name.”
“Right,” Bryan said, somewhat awkwardly.
“Yep,” I said, unsure of what to say now. This was the first guy with whom I’d actually had an okay conversation, not counting my boss for the paper routes. But this was also a guy who was kind of attractive – there was something about his eyes that you could get lost in.
“So… how old are you, out of curiosity?” Bryan asked, as if he were just trying to make conversation.
“I’ll be sixteen on the 21st,” I said. “You?”
“I’m seventeen,” he said simply.
Well, after that, Bryan showed me around the gardens, rattling off information as he went – the Garden Maze alone was four acres; the entire property was about twenty. Mr. English rarely came out of the study, according to Bryan, and he rarely even came out of the house in general, for that matter. Bryan didn’t see why there should be twenty acres of ground to be maintained if the owner wasn’t going to walk around and enjoy them. To be honest, I have to agree.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
I know
I KNOW I haven't posted in a while. I KNOW I'm very lame in that regard. I KNOW I said that for Lent I would blog and journal more. But I ALSO said I'd do fifty push ups every day, and that failed after two weeks. I also know that this computer is being very stupid, because the mouse keeps going where it shouldn't be. It's a school laptop, and all the school laptops are kind of bad. But anyway, update:
Sunday: Went to church. Very awkward moment when the guy who I somewhat ditched- the one who I was texting with who turned out to be kind of a jerk- showed up on Sunday. He does not go to our church normally. It was the second time he had ever been. It was completely unexpected and VERY awkward.
Monday: Nothing of great consequence, except for the first all-grades rehearsal. Nothing else major.
Tuesday: Had a chorus concert and finished a knitted dress. Yes, the one I have been working on for two years. It is done. Finally. Yes, I am wearing it right now. Yes, it's kind of bad. But it's done. You have to make allowances for the fact that it's my first dress that I have ever made ever.
Wednesday: going to the Opera later. Yes, on a Wednesday. It's like a huge discount thing because it's the last dress rehearsal before opening, so the tickets were only like 12 bucks.
Okay, I have to go now. Goodbye. Will be back.
Sunday: Went to church. Very awkward moment when the guy who I somewhat ditched- the one who I was texting with who turned out to be kind of a jerk- showed up on Sunday. He does not go to our church normally. It was the second time he had ever been. It was completely unexpected and VERY awkward.
Monday: Nothing of great consequence, except for the first all-grades rehearsal. Nothing else major.
Tuesday: Had a chorus concert and finished a knitted dress. Yes, the one I have been working on for two years. It is done. Finally. Yes, I am wearing it right now. Yes, it's kind of bad. But it's done. You have to make allowances for the fact that it's my first dress that I have ever made ever.
Wednesday: going to the Opera later. Yes, on a Wednesday. It's like a huge discount thing because it's the last dress rehearsal before opening, so the tickets were only like 12 bucks.
Okay, I have to go now. Goodbye. Will be back.
Friday, March 12, 2010
And for the lyrics...
Lyrics: American Pie. Singer/ writer: Don McLean. I have to get this on my iPod. I'm not kidding. I should have it, but I don't. No idea why.
A long long time ago
I can still remember how that music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while
But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step
I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin' "this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die."
Did you write the Book of Love
And do you have faith in God above
If the Bible tells you so
Do you believe in rock n' roll
Can music save your mortal soul
And can you teach me how to dance real slow
Well, I know that you're in love with him
'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym
You both kicked off your shoes
Man, I dig those rhythm & blues
I was a lonely, teenage broncin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died
I started singin'
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin' "this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die."
Now for ten years we've been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rollin' stone
But that's not how it used to be
When the Jester sang for the King and Queen
In a coat he borrowed from James Dean
In a voice that came from you and me
Oh, and while the King was looking down
The Jester stole his thorny crown
The courtroom was adjourned
No verdict was returned
And while Lenin read a book on Marx
The quartet practiced in the park
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died
We were singin'
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin' "this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die."
Helter Skelter in a summer swelter
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter
Eight miles high and falling fast
It landed foul on the grass
The players tried for a forward pass
With the Jester on the sidelines in a cast
Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While the Sergeants played a marching tune
We all got up to dance
Oh but we never got the chance
'Cause the players tried to take the field
The marching band refused to yield
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died
We started singing
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin' "this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die."
Oh, and there we were, all in one place
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again
So come on, Jack, be nimble, Jack be quick
Jack Flash sat on a candlestick
'Cause fire is the devils only friend
Oh, and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage
No angel born in Hell
Could break that Satan's spell
And as flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died
He was singing
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin' "this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die."
I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news
But she just smiled and turned away
I went down to the sacred store
Where I'd heard the music years before
But the man there said the music wouldn't play
And in the streets the children screamed
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed
But not a word was spoken
The church bells all were broken
And the three men I admire most
The Father, Son and the Holy Ghost
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died
And they were singin'
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singing this'll be the day that I die
They were singin'
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singing this'll be the day that I die
A long long time ago
I can still remember how that music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while
But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step
I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin' "this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die."
Did you write the Book of Love
And do you have faith in God above
If the Bible tells you so
Do you believe in rock n' roll
Can music save your mortal soul
And can you teach me how to dance real slow
Well, I know that you're in love with him
'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym
You both kicked off your shoes
Man, I dig those rhythm & blues
I was a lonely, teenage broncin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died
I started singin'
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin' "this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die."
Now for ten years we've been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rollin' stone
But that's not how it used to be
When the Jester sang for the King and Queen
In a coat he borrowed from James Dean
In a voice that came from you and me
Oh, and while the King was looking down
The Jester stole his thorny crown
The courtroom was adjourned
No verdict was returned
And while Lenin read a book on Marx
The quartet practiced in the park
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died
We were singin'
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin' "this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die."
Helter Skelter in a summer swelter
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter
Eight miles high and falling fast
It landed foul on the grass
The players tried for a forward pass
With the Jester on the sidelines in a cast
Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While the Sergeants played a marching tune
We all got up to dance
Oh but we never got the chance
'Cause the players tried to take the field
The marching band refused to yield
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died
We started singing
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin' "this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die."
Oh, and there we were, all in one place
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again
So come on, Jack, be nimble, Jack be quick
Jack Flash sat on a candlestick
'Cause fire is the devils only friend
Oh, and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage
No angel born in Hell
Could break that Satan's spell
And as flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died
He was singing
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin' "this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die."
I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news
But she just smiled and turned away
I went down to the sacred store
Where I'd heard the music years before
But the man there said the music wouldn't play
And in the streets the children screamed
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed
But not a word was spoken
The church bells all were broken
And the three men I admire most
The Father, Son and the Holy Ghost
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died
And they were singin'
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singing this'll be the day that I die
They were singin'
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singing this'll be the day that I die
American pie
So I was looking for lyrics for American Pie by Don McLean, and I came upon this kind of interesting website that analyzes the lyrics. here's the link: http://www.whrc-wi.org/americanpie.htm
lyrics- "Saga Begins", weird al
I love this song. And I'm listening to it right now. It's the parody of "American Pie" about Star Wars. yeah......
"The Saga Begins"
A long, long time ago
In a galaxy far away
Naboo was under an attack
And I thought me and Qui-Gon Jinn
Could talk the federation into
Maybe cutting them a little slack
But their response, it didn't thrill us
They locked the doors and tried to kill us
We escaped from that gas
Then met Jar Jar and Boss Nass
We took a bongo from the scene
And we went to Theed to see the Queen
We all wound up on Tatooine
That's where we found this boy...
Oh my my this here Anakin guy
May be Vader someday later - now he's just a small fry
And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye
Sayin' "Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
"Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
Did you know this junkyard slave
Isn't even old enough to shave
But he can use the Force, they say
Ah, do you see him hitting on the queen
Though he's just nine and she's fourteen
Yeah, he's probably gonna marry her someday
Well, I know he built C-3PO
And I've heard how fast his pod can go
And we were broke, it's true
So we made a wager or two
He was a prepubescent flyin' ace
And the minute Jabba started off that race
Well, I knew who would win first place
Oh yes, it was our boy
We started singin' ...
My my this here Anakin guy
May be Vader someday later - now he's just a small fry
And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye
Sayin' "Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
"Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
Now we finally got to Coruscant
The Jedi Council we knew would want
To see how good the boy could be
So we took him there and we told the tale
How his midi-chlorians were off the scale
And he might fulfill that prophecy
Oh, the Council was impressed, of course
Could he bring balance to the Force?
They interviewed the kid
Oh, training they forbid
Because Yoda sensed in him much fear
And Qui-Gon said "Now listen here"
"Just stick it in your pointy ear"
"I still will teach this boy"
He was singin' ...
My my this here Anakin guy
May be Vader someday later - now he's just a small fry
And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye
Sayin' "Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
"Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
We caught a ride back to Naboo
'Cause Queen Amidala wanted to
I frankly would've liked to stay
We all fought in that epic war
And it wasn't long at all before
Little Hotshot flew his plane and saved the day
And in the end some Gunguns died
Some ships blew up and some pilots fried
A lot of folks were croakin'
The battle droids were broken
And the Jedi I admire most
Met up with Darth Maul and now he's toast
Well, I'm still here and he's a ghost
I guess I'll train this boy
And I was singin' ...
My my this here Anakin guy
May be Vader someday later - now he's just a small fry
And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye
Sayin' "Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
"Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
We were singin' ...
My my this here Anakin guy
May be Vader someday later - now he's just a small fry
And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye
Sayin' "Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
"The Saga Begins"
A long, long time ago
In a galaxy far away
Naboo was under an attack
And I thought me and Qui-Gon Jinn
Could talk the federation into
Maybe cutting them a little slack
But their response, it didn't thrill us
They locked the doors and tried to kill us
We escaped from that gas
Then met Jar Jar and Boss Nass
We took a bongo from the scene
And we went to Theed to see the Queen
We all wound up on Tatooine
That's where we found this boy...
Oh my my this here Anakin guy
May be Vader someday later - now he's just a small fry
And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye
Sayin' "Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
"Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
Did you know this junkyard slave
Isn't even old enough to shave
But he can use the Force, they say
Ah, do you see him hitting on the queen
Though he's just nine and she's fourteen
Yeah, he's probably gonna marry her someday
Well, I know he built C-3PO
And I've heard how fast his pod can go
And we were broke, it's true
So we made a wager or two
He was a prepubescent flyin' ace
And the minute Jabba started off that race
Well, I knew who would win first place
Oh yes, it was our boy
We started singin' ...
My my this here Anakin guy
May be Vader someday later - now he's just a small fry
And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye
Sayin' "Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
"Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
Now we finally got to Coruscant
The Jedi Council we knew would want
To see how good the boy could be
So we took him there and we told the tale
How his midi-chlorians were off the scale
And he might fulfill that prophecy
Oh, the Council was impressed, of course
Could he bring balance to the Force?
They interviewed the kid
Oh, training they forbid
Because Yoda sensed in him much fear
And Qui-Gon said "Now listen here"
"Just stick it in your pointy ear"
"I still will teach this boy"
He was singin' ...
My my this here Anakin guy
May be Vader someday later - now he's just a small fry
And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye
Sayin' "Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
"Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
We caught a ride back to Naboo
'Cause Queen Amidala wanted to
I frankly would've liked to stay
We all fought in that epic war
And it wasn't long at all before
Little Hotshot flew his plane and saved the day
And in the end some Gunguns died
Some ships blew up and some pilots fried
A lot of folks were croakin'
The battle droids were broken
And the Jedi I admire most
Met up with Darth Maul and now he's toast
Well, I'm still here and he's a ghost
I guess I'll train this boy
And I was singin' ...
My my this here Anakin guy
May be Vader someday later - now he's just a small fry
And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye
Sayin' "Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
"Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
We were singin' ...
My my this here Anakin guy
May be Vader someday later - now he's just a small fry
And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye
Sayin' "Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi"
I love warm rains
I'm very happy that it's raining now. If this were December, I'd be miserable, because it was COLD in December. But as it's WARM now, rain is making me happy. I'm not as happy as I'd be if it were sunny, but I really like the rain when the weather is warm. I have no idea why. But I like it. It just feels like something awesome is about to start when it rains and it's like sixty degrees out, and it's spring or summer. When it rains and it's winter or late fall and it's cold, it feels like something is dying. At least it does to me. I don't know about you, but that's what it's like for me. It just feels nice, you know? I should be sick of precipitation by now, but at least rain will dry out after a day or two, unlike two rounds of two feet of snow after the first one isn't even totally melted.
There's still some snow on the ground- not a lot, but there's some. I'M READY FOR SPRING, DARN IT! Hopefully all this rain will wash away the excess snow and life can officially move on, instead of having to stay around and mope about snow and not be able to do anything because we can't go anywhere because we're snowed in. Hooray! I am ready to move on from winter, partially because I don't particularly like winter, and partially because my birthday is in April. I don't know whether I'm going to enjoy being a year older, but I will officially be able to drive. Well, I can in September. But still.
You're not exactly a teenager every day.
There's still some snow on the ground- not a lot, but there's some. I'M READY FOR SPRING, DARN IT! Hopefully all this rain will wash away the excess snow and life can officially move on, instead of having to stay around and mope about snow and not be able to do anything because we can't go anywhere because we're snowed in. Hooray! I am ready to move on from winter, partially because I don't particularly like winter, and partially because my birthday is in April. I don't know whether I'm going to enjoy being a year older, but I will officially be able to drive. Well, I can in September. But still.
You're not exactly a teenager every day.
Monday, March 8, 2010
And the all-grades...
Okay, for the all-grades show, I will be playing the glorious roll of a starfish in Aslan's army. Yes, a starfish. I don't recall there ever being said starfish in Aslan's army, nor do I recall there EVER being a starfish in "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe," or any other C.S. Lewis book, for that matter, but there are a lot of made-up parts in our production. I am also the fight choreographer. It should be great fun. Really. I'm SUPER psyched about it. I'll probably need to do a crash course in Gum Do (Korean swordfighting) and stuff to work with the sword bits, but other than that, I hope I will do well- after all, I HAVE spent the last eight years in a dojang. I'm not COMPLETELY worthless when it comes to fighting. I hope. Anyhoo, it should be great fun to do this production, regardless of whether or not there are actually supposed to be starfish in it. I get to make people look cool when they beat each other up. Who wouldn't love that? Well, if you're a girly girl, I could understand, but I'm NOT a girly girl, so therefore, I'm SUPER psyched about this. Okay, I'm off to play around with Pirates of the Caribbean music and lots of random blocks and punches and such. Goodbye for now.
haven't posted in a while...
I know, I haven't posted in a while. I've been journaling more than I've been blogging lately. I don't know why, because I said I would do both more during Lent. I obviously haven't kept up on the blogging part of it. I'll have to work on that. Anyway, update:
On Thursday, I actually had fun in gym when we played basketball. It's the only game I can play with reasonable enjoyment in gym aside from volleyball and soccer.
On Friday, I pulled a muscle in my left leg in gym when I went into the splits too fast. I also learned that I could hit a high D and began developing a cold. Not fun.
On Saturday, I went to a TV/ Multimedia production class at the career center, in lieu of being able to do the actual class during the school day. It's really fun. I also got to go to CVS and walk back, even though my leg was killing me the whole walk home.
On Sunday, I went to church and a Venturing Crew meeting. We packed health kits for Haiti and I took notes at the crew meeting because I am the secretary/ blogger, and that's what I do.
On Thursday, I actually had fun in gym when we played basketball. It's the only game I can play with reasonable enjoyment in gym aside from volleyball and soccer.
On Friday, I pulled a muscle in my left leg in gym when I went into the splits too fast. I also learned that I could hit a high D and began developing a cold. Not fun.
On Saturday, I went to a TV/ Multimedia production class at the career center, in lieu of being able to do the actual class during the school day. It's really fun. I also got to go to CVS and walk back, even though my leg was killing me the whole walk home.
On Sunday, I went to church and a Venturing Crew meeting. We packed health kits for Haiti and I took notes at the crew meeting because I am the secretary/ blogger, and that's what I do.
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