As evidenced by the dwindling number of stress-induced zits marring my face, the much be-groaned finals week has come to an end! Which means (drum roll, please... or rather, victorious trumpet fanfare) I'm on to my LAST SEMESTER OF SCHOOL for the foreseeable future!
I have eight more credits to complete before earning my undergraduate degree. Next semester, between advanced creative writing and my senior project, will be all about finishing a FULL DRAFT of my novel so that I can start sending out queries over the summer... with the promised guidance of Skipping Stone! Many great things lie ahead, and I can't wait to get started - but not before I've indulged in the annual Christmastime month of hibernation and, of course, the chaos known as holiday shopping, which promises to be even more chaotic than usual.
I had the great misfortune of leaving my debit card in an ATM and, consequently, having it shredded, just a few weeks before the biggest gift-giving extravaganza of the year. I finally got a new one this week, which I have been unable to take advantage of due to final projects, papers, and portfolios (although, thankfully, no formal exams). So now, with a week to go until Christmas, I have to purchase stuff for just about everyone I know and find time to hand-make gifts for the rest of the people I know.
The homemade gifts are actually the easy part. It's the grandmas I can never figure out. One of my grandmas I hardly even see except when she turns up on birthdays and Christmas to hand out $25 Macy's gift cards. The best thing I ever bought with one was a toaster oven. As great a purchase as that was (and I truly mean that; I use it every day in my apartment), I am always tempted to buy her a gift card she will find equally useless - to, say, Newbury Comics, which is my favorite store - and then offer to trade. But I suppose that would be rude.
Peace, love and white elephants,
Miss Rex
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Finals week post 1: Magic!
It's finals week. I am too busy and exhausted to post anything of substance, and you are too busy and exhausted to read it. So my next few posts will consist of very few words.
Today I have two items of mind-blowing proportions. First, give this a listen. When you get to the bottom I'll tell you what it is.
by Shamantis
To complete your trippy experience, take a look at these crazy magic eye pictures!
From "Brother" (yes, the printer people):
Fixed-width text magic eye picture by Jason Unger:
The most epic thing I've ever found via the Interwebs, by I F F cool:
So that song you've been listening to since you got here? It's "U Smile" by Justin Bieber... 8x slower than the real thing.
Peace, love, and cappuccino,
Miss Rex
Today I have two items of mind-blowing proportions. First, give this a listen. When you get to the bottom I'll tell you what it is.
by Shamantis
To complete your trippy experience, take a look at these crazy magic eye pictures!
From "Brother" (yes, the printer people):
Fixed-width text magic eye picture by Jason Unger:
The most epic thing I've ever found via the Interwebs, by I F F cool:
So that song you've been listening to since you got here? It's "U Smile" by Justin Bieber... 8x slower than the real thing.
Peace, love, and cappuccino,
Miss Rex
Required worship: Check.
The requirement that Go-Co students attend chapel has been something I've loved and hated about this school. For the better part of three years I bitched and moaned about going, and often with good reason - it was boring, the worship was horrible and fake (how could required worship be authentic?), and the speakers were too conservative for me to relate to.
Oh, we would have the occasional gem: Norm Jones would perform a dramatic monologue or a preacher from an urban church would come shake us up a little bit. But until this year, chapel was something I habitually resented. Sometimes I would try to get something out of it, spiritually or intellectually, but I would almost always walk away frustrated. I came to think of myself not as a Christian but as an agnostic.
I'm not saying things have gotten tons better. My faith is still a fragile thing. But, for the first time in four years, I was actually starting to get something out of going to chapel. Perhaps the number of "Christian life and worship" credits I'd earned didn't reflect that, but I was going twice a week ready to engage (as well as attending Sunday night candlelight worship, which doesn't offer credit), and that was a huge step for me.
Then, halfway through the semester, I had five extra chapel credits tacked onto my requirements, pushing me up to 35 for the semester. Between my night shifts at the writing center, my afternoon classes, and my internship, I literally could not attend afternoon and evening events. I counted, and there were not enough morning chapels left in the semester for me to fulfill the requirement.
They don't stop you from graduating if you don't make all your chapels. As a part-time student next semester, my record will be cleared anyway. But it was the principle of the thing. I asked for a reduction in chapel requirements and was refused.
Suddenly what little motivation I had to attend was replaced by the same familiar resentment that kept me from God over the past few years. The expectation that I, a Christian teetering on the brink of faith, should have to make better than perfect chapel attendance for the rest of the semester was absurd. I determined that the chapel office was run by a slew of heartless bureaucrats with no concept of the Christian concept of mercy.
I almost decided to boycott and start having my own private worship time. After all, the idea of Christian life and worship is to bring you into communion with God, and I could do that just as well on my own. I thought, who the hell are the bureaucrats to tell me whether my Christian life and worship is sufficient? Are they saying I'm only good enough for God if I'm good enough for them? But we are not trying to please men, but God! He is the only one who should be attaching a value to my Christian life and worship.
Well, today I completed my 35th chapel of the semester. I am done. I don't know how I managed it; maybe it was the Thursday night movie screening that I only went to because Skipping Stone had a hand in its production, or the debate on human suffering, or the visiting author whose discourse I had to attend for my writing class. Regardless, I did it, and I think that the victory is as pleasing to God as it is to the chapel office. I at least know that I feel better rounded and spiritually stimulated than I have in past years.
Put that in your censer and smoke it.
Peace, love and truffles,
Miss Rex
Oh, we would have the occasional gem: Norm Jones would perform a dramatic monologue or a preacher from an urban church would come shake us up a little bit. But until this year, chapel was something I habitually resented. Sometimes I would try to get something out of it, spiritually or intellectually, but I would almost always walk away frustrated. I came to think of myself not as a Christian but as an agnostic.
I'm not saying things have gotten tons better. My faith is still a fragile thing. But, for the first time in four years, I was actually starting to get something out of going to chapel. Perhaps the number of "Christian life and worship" credits I'd earned didn't reflect that, but I was going twice a week ready to engage (as well as attending Sunday night candlelight worship, which doesn't offer credit), and that was a huge step for me.
Then, halfway through the semester, I had five extra chapel credits tacked onto my requirements, pushing me up to 35 for the semester. Between my night shifts at the writing center, my afternoon classes, and my internship, I literally could not attend afternoon and evening events. I counted, and there were not enough morning chapels left in the semester for me to fulfill the requirement.
They don't stop you from graduating if you don't make all your chapels. As a part-time student next semester, my record will be cleared anyway. But it was the principle of the thing. I asked for a reduction in chapel requirements and was refused.
Suddenly what little motivation I had to attend was replaced by the same familiar resentment that kept me from God over the past few years. The expectation that I, a Christian teetering on the brink of faith, should have to make better than perfect chapel attendance for the rest of the semester was absurd. I determined that the chapel office was run by a slew of heartless bureaucrats with no concept of the Christian concept of mercy.
I almost decided to boycott and start having my own private worship time. After all, the idea of Christian life and worship is to bring you into communion with God, and I could do that just as well on my own. I thought, who the hell are the bureaucrats to tell me whether my Christian life and worship is sufficient? Are they saying I'm only good enough for God if I'm good enough for them? But we are not trying to please men, but God! He is the only one who should be attaching a value to my Christian life and worship.
Well, today I completed my 35th chapel of the semester. I am done. I don't know how I managed it; maybe it was the Thursday night movie screening that I only went to because Skipping Stone had a hand in its production, or the debate on human suffering, or the visiting author whose discourse I had to attend for my writing class. Regardless, I did it, and I think that the victory is as pleasing to God as it is to the chapel office. I at least know that I feel better rounded and spiritually stimulated than I have in past years.
Put that in your censer and smoke it.
Peace, love and truffles,
Miss Rex
Billy Madison learned the most important thing in high school
How to BS.
I had never seen Billy Madison until a couple of weeks ago, and that was on purpose. Let me tell you, after it was over I really sympathized with the guy who said "everybody in this room is now dumber for having listened to you."
But Billy Madison learned the most important thing you can learn in high school. It's sad but true: The ability to BS will get you through just about anything in life, or at least the rest of your schooling. I have my theories that it will get you far in the corporate world too, but I have yet to personally test this theory, and I think I will find it easier to be passionate in that world, so perhaps BS will be less necessary than it has been for the past 16 years of my life.
The tragic truth is, students don't have time to be sincere and thoughtful. Even if we had no other work/family/friend/etc. obligations, coursework alone would leave us with too little time for sincerity and thought. So, we get really good at sounding thoughtful as we crank out paper after paper, sometimes spending as little as a single afternoon on a major 8-ish page paper.
I've had teachers throughout the years tell me that it doesn't matter what point you argue as long as you back it up with evidence. By these standards, Billy's blathering about a lost puppy being a symbol for society gets top marks.
And so will my twelve-pager for Communication Theories. Rawr!
Peace, love, and finals,
Miss Rex
I had never seen Billy Madison until a couple of weeks ago, and that was on purpose. Let me tell you, after it was over I really sympathized with the guy who said "everybody in this room is now dumber for having listened to you."
But Billy Madison learned the most important thing you can learn in high school. It's sad but true: The ability to BS will get you through just about anything in life, or at least the rest of your schooling. I have my theories that it will get you far in the corporate world too, but I have yet to personally test this theory, and I think I will find it easier to be passionate in that world, so perhaps BS will be less necessary than it has been for the past 16 years of my life.
The tragic truth is, students don't have time to be sincere and thoughtful. Even if we had no other work/family/friend/etc. obligations, coursework alone would leave us with too little time for sincerity and thought. So, we get really good at sounding thoughtful as we crank out paper after paper, sometimes spending as little as a single afternoon on a major 8-ish page paper.
I've had teachers throughout the years tell me that it doesn't matter what point you argue as long as you back it up with evidence. By these standards, Billy's blathering about a lost puppy being a symbol for society gets top marks.
And so will my twelve-pager for Communication Theories. Rawr!
Peace, love, and finals,
Miss Rex
Bird!
I woke up from a crazy dream this morning. First I was on a long bus ride from an Italian airport, trying to get to Assisi. My family and roommate were there. Suddenly it was time for us to get off, but I wasn't ready and my shoes were off. I tried to put on my Chucks and found a teabag in one of them. Surely this reflects the number of random teabags sitting out to dry in my apartment (although this situation has improved since I posted a poem called "No Teabaggin'" over our trash can... will post photos later).
Then I was in a posh hotel room with two king-size beds and a whole wall of windows. The decor was mod, mostly reds, blacks and whites. My mom and grandma were there, trying to decide what to order from the hotel's in-house restaurant. I finally convinced them that we'd be better off taking a walk and seeing what was in the area. I checked Facebook to see if my Italian beau would be available for a visit, but he was in Canada.
Next thing I knew I was on the roof with my mom. In the distance I saw an enormous black bird (think Howl in Howl's Moving Castle, except bigger, and not a big softie at heart). The sight of him gave me chills.
Suddenly the bird attacked us, fast as a flying arrow. We battled her up and down the gables and precipices of a spooky old castle and finally warded her off long enough for my mom to say, "Well. You have some really f*d up friends."
The bird was coming back, but my alarm went off before the final showdown... alas.
I need to start blogging again. I told myself I'd keep up with Claymore reviews, but they never have any flavors when I go. Tis a sad state of affairs. But the happy state of affairs is that I will be a barista there come Friday! THEN I shall have flavors! *Insert maniacal laughter here*
The other reason I haven't been around (well, one of many) is that, when I'm not in class, at Skipping Stone, doing homework or working at the writing center, I'm putting all of my creative energy into my novel. Next semester I'll be a part-time student, and both of my classes will allow (in fact, they will require) that I work on my book ALL THE TIME. So I'll probably finish it by summer. And maybe have time for blogging in between.
Then, on to the headache that is publishing! I am blessed to be at Skipping Stone, where our director of publishing has agreed to look over my work and point me in the right direction, whether that be to an agent or editor or publishing house (she has connections with HarperCollins and Penguin... not to mention, Skipping Stone itself publishes YA fiction). I have high hopes, dear friends, that you will be able to hold a copy of Before the Empty Moon in your very hands in the semi-near future!
And now, before your boredom degrades into full-out unconsciousness, I bid thee adieu!
Peace, love and toilet paper,
Miss Rex
Then I was in a posh hotel room with two king-size beds and a whole wall of windows. The decor was mod, mostly reds, blacks and whites. My mom and grandma were there, trying to decide what to order from the hotel's in-house restaurant. I finally convinced them that we'd be better off taking a walk and seeing what was in the area. I checked Facebook to see if my Italian beau would be available for a visit, but he was in Canada.
Next thing I knew I was on the roof with my mom. In the distance I saw an enormous black bird (think Howl in Howl's Moving Castle, except bigger, and not a big softie at heart). The sight of him gave me chills.
Suddenly the bird attacked us, fast as a flying arrow. We battled her up and down the gables and precipices of a spooky old castle and finally warded her off long enough for my mom to say, "Well. You have some really f*d up friends."
The bird was coming back, but my alarm went off before the final showdown... alas.
I need to start blogging again. I told myself I'd keep up with Claymore reviews, but they never have any flavors when I go. Tis a sad state of affairs. But the happy state of affairs is that I will be a barista there come Friday! THEN I shall have flavors! *Insert maniacal laughter here*
The other reason I haven't been around (well, one of many) is that, when I'm not in class, at Skipping Stone, doing homework or working at the writing center, I'm putting all of my creative energy into my novel. Next semester I'll be a part-time student, and both of my classes will allow (in fact, they will require) that I work on my book ALL THE TIME. So I'll probably finish it by summer. And maybe have time for blogging in between.
Then, on to the headache that is publishing! I am blessed to be at Skipping Stone, where our director of publishing has agreed to look over my work and point me in the right direction, whether that be to an agent or editor or publishing house (she has connections with HarperCollins and Penguin... not to mention, Skipping Stone itself publishes YA fiction). I have high hopes, dear friends, that you will be able to hold a copy of Before the Empty Moon in your very hands in the semi-near future!
And now, before your boredom degrades into full-out unconsciousness, I bid thee adieu!
Peace, love and toilet paper,
Miss Rex
Another end-of-the-world story
The end of the world didn’t come the way everyone expected it to, and Ravenna was the only one to realize what was happening. She sat in the cupola of her hilltop house and watched as the stars lined up behind the moon, single file like a gaggle of goslings behind their mother, and as the ocean drew back and back and back as if the Atlantic was baring its teeth before sic’ing. It was only a matter of time, she thought, before everything would end, and since there was nothing to be done about it, she simply sat and watched.
But dawn showed up anyway. The sun, rising in the south, must have missed the memo that the world was over and he could go on his way now; the Earth no longer needed him. Ravenna did the only thing she could think to do, what was the thing she always did: she got ready for work and rode her bike out to the atrium.
Her boss was nowhere to be found, nor were the animals she always tended. It seemed her charges must have known what was coming and fled, trampling the flora as they went.
Ravenna wandered the grounds and found nothing but yesterday’s traces of life. Nothing moved, nothing twittered, nothing scurried into the bushes.
That was when it dawned on her that she hadn’t seen a single car on the road that morning. Suddenly panicked, she leapt back onto her bicycle and rode until her legs couldn’t pedal anymore, through the business district, to the harbor, down the coast on the wrong side of the Jersey barrier. There wasn’t a moving car on the street.
She finally arrived at her old house. The family car was still there, but her family was gone.
A balmy breeze swept through the yard, though New England was waist-deep in November. Ravenna could only shiver in response. The world had ended, all right, and she’d been left behind.
-----------------------------
I wrote this a few weeks ago as an exercise for my class and forgot to post it. Thoughts? Comments? A simple Like or Unlike?
Peace, love and California dreamin',
Miss Rex
But dawn showed up anyway. The sun, rising in the south, must have missed the memo that the world was over and he could go on his way now; the Earth no longer needed him. Ravenna did the only thing she could think to do, what was the thing she always did: she got ready for work and rode her bike out to the atrium.
Her boss was nowhere to be found, nor were the animals she always tended. It seemed her charges must have known what was coming and fled, trampling the flora as they went.
Ravenna wandered the grounds and found nothing but yesterday’s traces of life. Nothing moved, nothing twittered, nothing scurried into the bushes.
That was when it dawned on her that she hadn’t seen a single car on the road that morning. Suddenly panicked, she leapt back onto her bicycle and rode until her legs couldn’t pedal anymore, through the business district, to the harbor, down the coast on the wrong side of the Jersey barrier. There wasn’t a moving car on the street.
She finally arrived at her old house. The family car was still there, but her family was gone.
A balmy breeze swept through the yard, though New England was waist-deep in November. Ravenna could only shiver in response. The world had ended, all right, and she’d been left behind.
-----------------------------
I wrote this a few weeks ago as an exercise for my class and forgot to post it. Thoughts? Comments? A simple Like or Unlike?
Peace, love and California dreamin',
Miss Rex
Now I know what Mom went through
If you ever want to know what your mother went through when you were a teenager, try losing your roommate.
As crazy as she is, Taz is a creature of habit. She goes to bed early, gets up early. She hangs out with boys but won't let them touch her. She's random, but not reckless. JW, Jo Yo and I invited her to come see Adam Ezra Group with us tonight, but she declined on the grounds that her sleeping pattern had had a rough week and she wanted to get to bed early.
She made plans to watch an Adam Sandler movie with Abs, one of JW's apartment mates who she might be crushing on a little bit. Last I saw her she was vacuuming our living room in anticipation of his arrival, which was not at all extravagant for her - she goes all out for her boys. She will make a wonderful girlfriend when she finds the right dude.
Fast forward.
Went to the show. Paid three times more than we should've for parking because there was an event at the Agganis Arena next door. Lost tickets, found Rob (bassist), got new tickets for free. Got deafened and danced upon. Didn't stick around for drinks because the show went so long that last call was already over by the time we got out. Came home at 2:10AM to an empty room.
I was just going to go to sleep when it struck me how very odd it was that Taz was still out. It would have been less odd if she hadn't specifically said she wanted to go to bed early... but it still would have worried me. So I did what my mother always taught me I should do at at time like this.
I panicked.
Cue frantic phone calls, texts to JW asking if Abs was in the apartment (his light was off and JW was worried he'd wake up the roomie, so we never did find out), midnight wake-up call for Mnomanoms, and (half an hour later) a last-ditch effort sprint to the dining hall. I expected Lane to be closed at such an hour, but it was the last place Taz had told anyone she would be and the last place I could get into without a key to search for her.
It was open. This was the first time I've ever looked at our dining hall as a beacon of hope, and will most likely be the last. Sure enough I found Taz and Abs sitting on a couch downstairs, just talking. Taz was quick to point out that my fly was down. I was quick to point out that I'd been halfway into my PJs before the notion struck me that she was probably floating face down in Coy Pond and I had better go find her.
So, Mom, this post is for you. For the random times I didn't make it home when I said I would, or somehow failed to communicate what time I would actually be home, and for all the times I was over friends' houses with no cell phone reception (which was usually, because everyone I know lives in dead zones)... I'm sorry.
Peace, love, and undead roomies,
Miss Rex
As crazy as she is, Taz is a creature of habit. She goes to bed early, gets up early. She hangs out with boys but won't let them touch her. She's random, but not reckless. JW, Jo Yo and I invited her to come see Adam Ezra Group with us tonight, but she declined on the grounds that her sleeping pattern had had a rough week and she wanted to get to bed early.
She made plans to watch an Adam Sandler movie with Abs, one of JW's apartment mates who she might be crushing on a little bit. Last I saw her she was vacuuming our living room in anticipation of his arrival, which was not at all extravagant for her - she goes all out for her boys. She will make a wonderful girlfriend when she finds the right dude.
Fast forward.
Went to the show. Paid three times more than we should've for parking because there was an event at the Agganis Arena next door. Lost tickets, found Rob (bassist), got new tickets for free. Got deafened and danced upon. Didn't stick around for drinks because the show went so long that last call was already over by the time we got out. Came home at 2:10AM to an empty room.
I was just going to go to sleep when it struck me how very odd it was that Taz was still out. It would have been less odd if she hadn't specifically said she wanted to go to bed early... but it still would have worried me. So I did what my mother always taught me I should do at at time like this.
I panicked.
Cue frantic phone calls, texts to JW asking if Abs was in the apartment (his light was off and JW was worried he'd wake up the roomie, so we never did find out), midnight wake-up call for Mnomanoms, and (half an hour later) a last-ditch effort sprint to the dining hall. I expected Lane to be closed at such an hour, but it was the last place Taz had told anyone she would be and the last place I could get into without a key to search for her.
It was open. This was the first time I've ever looked at our dining hall as a beacon of hope, and will most likely be the last. Sure enough I found Taz and Abs sitting on a couch downstairs, just talking. Taz was quick to point out that my fly was down. I was quick to point out that I'd been halfway into my PJs before the notion struck me that she was probably floating face down in Coy Pond and I had better go find her.
So, Mom, this post is for you. For the random times I didn't make it home when I said I would, or somehow failed to communicate what time I would actually be home, and for all the times I was over friends' houses with no cell phone reception (which was usually, because everyone I know lives in dead zones)... I'm sorry.
Peace, love, and undead roomies,
Miss Rex
Wrecking Ball
Stealing is bad... except when you're a writer.
For my fiction writing class, I had to develop a story from a stolen first line. Mine came from Ursula K. Le Guin.
"Wrecking Ball"
Worms shot like subway trains through the dirt of gardens, among the writhing roots of roses, while swallows shot like fighter jets through the dazzling digits of daylight and while minnows shot like brown bullets through the plishing plashing pool and while a tiny gray rodent shot like a wine cork through the undergrowth, not quite invisible to the hawk that shot like a wrecking ball through the canopy.
But there were no subway trains.
At that time there were no fighter jets, no bullets, no corks or wine, no wrecking balls. The worms simply did as worms did, which was all that worms knew how to do, and centuries later when subway cars came along one of them had the bright idea to impersonate a worm.
And one day when there was a war to be fought, someone thought it might be useful if people could shoot around the sky like swallows and they armed themselves with bullets that cut right through the sky like airborne minnows.
When someone learned that the nectar of grapes could be fermented and was good for making the head spin, they bottled it up and decided to stopper it with a little round porous thing that would shoot out of the bottleneck like a doomed rodent.
But at that time there was nothing like a wrecking ball. There were humans, but back then it wasn’t the same thing. Besides, there were only two of them, and they were at peace with the worms and the swallows and the minnows and the mice, and even the thrashing, crashing, swooping, scooping hawk.
They were like twin towers, the man and the woman, tall and sparkling side by side for each other and for the world and for God.
------------------------
I'm coming up on my 300th post here at Blogger! How to celebrate? I'd love to bake you all a fabulous yellow loaf of banana bread, but since I can't figure out how to upload baked goods I'll have to come up with something else. How would you, my readers (if you are still out there, you non-commenting worm-toed ninnymuffins, you), like to celebrate Post #300?
Peace, love, and Claymore (which tragically refuses to open),
Miss Rex
For my fiction writing class, I had to develop a story from a stolen first line. Mine came from Ursula K. Le Guin.
"Wrecking Ball"
Worms shot like subway trains through the dirt of gardens, among the writhing roots of roses, while swallows shot like fighter jets through the dazzling digits of daylight and while minnows shot like brown bullets through the plishing plashing pool and while a tiny gray rodent shot like a wine cork through the undergrowth, not quite invisible to the hawk that shot like a wrecking ball through the canopy.
But there were no subway trains.
At that time there were no fighter jets, no bullets, no corks or wine, no wrecking balls. The worms simply did as worms did, which was all that worms knew how to do, and centuries later when subway cars came along one of them had the bright idea to impersonate a worm.
And one day when there was a war to be fought, someone thought it might be useful if people could shoot around the sky like swallows and they armed themselves with bullets that cut right through the sky like airborne minnows.
When someone learned that the nectar of grapes could be fermented and was good for making the head spin, they bottled it up and decided to stopper it with a little round porous thing that would shoot out of the bottleneck like a doomed rodent.
But at that time there was nothing like a wrecking ball. There were humans, but back then it wasn’t the same thing. Besides, there were only two of them, and they were at peace with the worms and the swallows and the minnows and the mice, and even the thrashing, crashing, swooping, scooping hawk.
They were like twin towers, the man and the woman, tall and sparkling side by side for each other and for the world and for God.
------------------------
I'm coming up on my 300th post here at Blogger! How to celebrate? I'd love to bake you all a fabulous yellow loaf of banana bread, but since I can't figure out how to upload baked goods I'll have to come up with something else. How would you, my readers (if you are still out there, you non-commenting worm-toed ninnymuffins, you), like to celebrate Post #300?
Peace, love, and Claymore (which tragically refuses to open),
Miss Rex
Sky vom
We're going to skip the awkward "oh hey, long time no post" conversation. I neglected you again. I'm deeply sorry and will start in on my penance after I click "Publish Post." On to more interesting things.
A lot has happened since my last post, but tonight, being the night after the first day of classes, shall be dedicated to (drum roll, please) the first day of classes.
First things first. It has poured for three days straight now, and I have been completely unprepared. We were in the middle of a freaking drought. Why should I pack galoshes? But of course as soon as everybody moves back in to Go-Co everything turns to sky vom. I forget that this place does that.
By the time I got to chapel I had taken two showers; one when I woke up, and one on my way to the chapel. I literally wrung out my hair when we got inside.
Afterward, Jo-Yo and I decided to run our clothes through the dryer, which is now "free" to use (i.e. doesn't take quarters, but there's an $80 laundry fee tacked onto our room and board costs). But my skinny jeans shrunk in the rain and I couldn't get them off, so Jo-Yo had to undress me.
Then I finally managed to access my email for the first time all week and realized I was supposed to be at a meeting at 8:00 this morning, which obviously didn't happen. I feel that I've hit the bottom of some academic bell curve for missing my first obligation of the year. And I thought I was so good for going to chapel.
Before I left for my 2:10 class, I cut up a trash bag to make a poncho. Wouldn't you know it, the sky had ceased puking by that point and was only taking a tinkle on us.
My first class is a communication theory class. I wish I could tell you more about it, but when the prof described what we'd be learning, I had no idea what the flamingo he was talking about. Luckily he grades on a contract, which means that if you do everything you're supposed to do, you get a B, even if you don't do it well. I know what grade I'll be getting in that class.
My second class is a fiction writing class. We've already started working on dialogues and drafts. I am, for the first time in maybe forever, legitimately stoked for a class. I'm hoping to use this as an opportunity to workshop parts of my novel.
And that's all the classes I have this semester! I'm getting 4 more credits for an internship I'm doing with a company we'll call Skipping Stone Media, which doesn't start until the middle of September.
So I've got my reasons for being stressed and my reasons for being stoked. Although most of the latter are related to a) living in an apartment with Razzmatazz, Mnomanoms and Taz, which is b) upstairs from my marvelous boyfriend, who deserves a post all his own, and c) turning old enough to take part in my friends' drunken revelries, since up to this point I have, of course, abstained from ingesting any and all alcoholic substances.
And just for the record, Friday (my birthday) is slated to be sunny with a high of 75.
Peace, love, and ponchos,
Miss Rex
A lot has happened since my last post, but tonight, being the night after the first day of classes, shall be dedicated to (drum roll, please) the first day of classes.
First things first. It has poured for three days straight now, and I have been completely unprepared. We were in the middle of a freaking drought. Why should I pack galoshes? But of course as soon as everybody moves back in to Go-Co everything turns to sky vom. I forget that this place does that.
By the time I got to chapel I had taken two showers; one when I woke up, and one on my way to the chapel. I literally wrung out my hair when we got inside.
Afterward, Jo-Yo and I decided to run our clothes through the dryer, which is now "free" to use (i.e. doesn't take quarters, but there's an $80 laundry fee tacked onto our room and board costs). But my skinny jeans shrunk in the rain and I couldn't get them off, so Jo-Yo had to undress me.
Then I finally managed to access my email for the first time all week and realized I was supposed to be at a meeting at 8:00 this morning, which obviously didn't happen. I feel that I've hit the bottom of some academic bell curve for missing my first obligation of the year. And I thought I was so good for going to chapel.
Before I left for my 2:10 class, I cut up a trash bag to make a poncho. Wouldn't you know it, the sky had ceased puking by that point and was only taking a tinkle on us.
My first class is a communication theory class. I wish I could tell you more about it, but when the prof described what we'd be learning, I had no idea what the flamingo he was talking about. Luckily he grades on a contract, which means that if you do everything you're supposed to do, you get a B, even if you don't do it well. I know what grade I'll be getting in that class.
My second class is a fiction writing class. We've already started working on dialogues and drafts. I am, for the first time in maybe forever, legitimately stoked for a class. I'm hoping to use this as an opportunity to workshop parts of my novel.
And that's all the classes I have this semester! I'm getting 4 more credits for an internship I'm doing with a company we'll call Skipping Stone Media, which doesn't start until the middle of September.
So I've got my reasons for being stressed and my reasons for being stoked. Although most of the latter are related to a) living in an apartment with Razzmatazz, Mnomanoms and Taz, which is b) upstairs from my marvelous boyfriend, who deserves a post all his own, and c) turning old enough to take part in my friends' drunken revelries, since up to this point I have, of course, abstained from ingesting any and all alcoholic substances.
And just for the record, Friday (my birthday) is slated to be sunny with a high of 75.
Peace, love, and ponchos,
Miss Rex
When in Assisi, do as the Franciscans do
Ciao, friends! I'm writing to you from Assisi, Italy! So fear not, there IS a good reason for my neglecting you all week.
I'm here for a journalism seminar with 11 other Go-Co kids. I'm in charge of documenting the trip and compiling a promotional video, since this is a new seminar. Thus I have waaay too many pictures to upload them all, but I'm trying to pick out the best of them. I shall post them tomorrow for Photofinish Friday! Until then, some thoughts:
There is something pleasantly surreal about living in a city that is centuries older than my entire country.
Passing under stone archways, I wonder how they are still standing and what it was like for Saint Clare to pass under those same arches in the 1200s. Climbing the hill to the castle called La Rocca, I wonder how many battles were fought on these ancient slopes and for what. I wonder how this rich culture and civilization could be so deeply rooted in these mountains for thousands of years without tarnishing the green of the valley. I wonder how an ancient religious order still draws practicing friars in the 21st century.
Here in this place, free from cell phones and wireless Internet and the general hubbub of the States, where the gardens encroach on the city, where you can wash down gelato with a glass of wine, where the locals need their afternoon siesta, here where history is in the very mortar of the walls and where learning is not a chore but a privilege – here I can breathe.
We have a fantastic group without whom this beautiful place would be infinitely less beautiful. Everyone is so chill and there is almost always someone up for doing something (especially drinking vino!). It's hard to buckle down and do work when you're surrounded by so many great friends and such a rich culture, but thankfully the load isn't as heavy as our professor keeps making it out to be. At least I haven't found it to be so. Video work isn't stressful for me; in fact, except for the headache that is logging and capturing videos from a camcorder, I find it almost therapeutic. And with that I am off to play with my new buddy, Final Cut Express. Arrividerci!
Peace, love and gelato,
Miss Rex
I'm here for a journalism seminar with 11 other Go-Co kids. I'm in charge of documenting the trip and compiling a promotional video, since this is a new seminar. Thus I have waaay too many pictures to upload them all, but I'm trying to pick out the best of them. I shall post them tomorrow for Photofinish Friday! Until then, some thoughts:
There is something pleasantly surreal about living in a city that is centuries older than my entire country.
Passing under stone archways, I wonder how they are still standing and what it was like for Saint Clare to pass under those same arches in the 1200s. Climbing the hill to the castle called La Rocca, I wonder how many battles were fought on these ancient slopes and for what. I wonder how this rich culture and civilization could be so deeply rooted in these mountains for thousands of years without tarnishing the green of the valley. I wonder how an ancient religious order still draws practicing friars in the 21st century.
Here in this place, free from cell phones and wireless Internet and the general hubbub of the States, where the gardens encroach on the city, where you can wash down gelato with a glass of wine, where the locals need their afternoon siesta, here where history is in the very mortar of the walls and where learning is not a chore but a privilege – here I can breathe.
We have a fantastic group without whom this beautiful place would be infinitely less beautiful. Everyone is so chill and there is almost always someone up for doing something (especially drinking vino!). It's hard to buckle down and do work when you're surrounded by so many great friends and such a rich culture, but thankfully the load isn't as heavy as our professor keeps making it out to be. At least I haven't found it to be so. Video work isn't stressful for me; in fact, except for the headache that is logging and capturing videos from a camcorder, I find it almost therapeutic. And with that I am off to play with my new buddy, Final Cut Express. Arrividerci!
Peace, love and gelato,
Miss Rex
Photofinish Friday: The end of junior year
Oops. I meant to post this yesterday, and thus begin the tradition that is to replace Excavations of Claymore for as long as I have no Claymore to excavate (i.e. for the summer). It's been crazy - I'm simultaneously trying to move back home and pack for Italy (I'm leaving tomorrow). So, alas, our new tradition fell by the wayside.
I am calling it Photofinish Friday. Although I cringe a little bit at the alliterative title, I think it's apt - Photofinish Friday posts will finish off the week with a series of photos I've taken that week.
I have two hopes for this new tradition. First, I hope it will encourage me to keep experimenting with my new camera, Cassie - not that I will simply take pictures but that I will learn all the cool features she has to offer. Second, I hope the posts will be quick "reads" for all of you. As much as I like to write longs posts, I don't usually like reading them because I have so many blogs to keep up with, and I figure many of you feel the same way - hence, the quickie.
So to kick it off, I've got some photos from the last week of school - enjoy!
Peace, love and packing,
Miss Rex
I am calling it Photofinish Friday. Although I cringe a little bit at the alliterative title, I think it's apt - Photofinish Friday posts will finish off the week with a series of photos I've taken that week.
I have two hopes for this new tradition. First, I hope it will encourage me to keep experimenting with my new camera, Cassie - not that I will simply take pictures but that I will learn all the cool features she has to offer. Second, I hope the posts will be quick "reads" for all of you. As much as I like to write longs posts, I don't usually like reading them because I have so many blogs to keep up with, and I figure many of you feel the same way - hence, the quickie.
So to kick it off, I've got some photos from the last week of school - enjoy!
Peace, love and packing,
Miss Rex
On Being a Loser
I wrote this for my internship in light of the fact that yet another school year is ending, possibly the best school year I've had yet at Go-Co, and how depressing it is that summer break is starting even now while my friend KZ packs his stuff into a mini-van and drives away.
I had the best hall ever this year. Thanks, guys, for resurrecting my social life. I made great friends in Claymore and I am sad to see the ghetto basement coffee house relocate to our lame fake pub next year. It's weird to say goodbye to the seniors after looking up to them for the past three years, and even though I have fewer close friends graduating this year than I did last, the ones that are leaving..... how will Go-Co ever be Go-Co without you? It will become a different place, and it will always be deficient without your presence, your advice, your laughter. Without you.
So yeah, before I start bawling my eyes out, here's the thing I wrote, entitled "On Being a Loser."
Every time I go home for the summer I find myself excavating the closet under the eaves in search of something I’ve lost. This also happens at Christmastime, Easter, Thanksgiving, and on sundry weekends throughout the year. I can’t help it; I’m a loser.
My favorite pants went missing for more than half a year. I haven’t seen my hiking boots since high school. There is a tragic space between Mae and Muse on my CD shelf where Matchbox Twenty should be. Sometimes when I leave my dorm I don’t even know where I parked my car. For the record, I hardly ever lose the keys.
But these things are only misplaced. More regrettable are the things that promise to stay lost: the poem I wrote in fourth grade, the recording of my best friend singing about green tea and the word “pshaw,” the plush bear my birth father gave me when I was born (one of the only mementos I had of him).
Are these important losses? I don’t know. For now, I still have the memories. The poem was less important than how nice it felt to see people smile when they read it. It’s not important that the recording got deleted as long as my friend and I can still scream “green tea!” to each other at random and confuse everybody else at parties. Knowing that my father wanted to be remembered is enough to remind me to remember him.
I think the greater losses are the ones we couldn’t hold to begin with. I lost a best friend once, and not knowing what happened to our friendship was volumes worse than not knowing what happened to the many books and CDs absent from my shelves.
I lost my childhood a few years back, and that was a shame, too. Finally realizing what a blessing I had in spite of stupid bullies at school, I’ve returned to my tree-climbing, Disney-watching days as best I can, but it’s not the same as having no obligations.
With the end of the school year looming, I realize I am about to lose something again. More friends are soon to graduate. In another year, I’ll be the one leaving school behind. Maybe then I will look back on these four years the way I look at childhood now.
But I don’t think we really lose the things we leave behind. I think we carry them forever. They carve themselves into the fleshy pink tissue of our brains and into the caverns of our hearts. We don’t lose them because they are us, and if we do lose them it’s because we meant to, or maybe they didn’t pierce us as sharply as we once thought.
My grandfather is losing his memory to Alzheimer’s. To me this seems the greatest loss of all. Everything I create, writing or otherwise, comes back to the friends who left and the ones who stayed, to the parents who loved me enough to give me up to a better life through adoption, to the songs that served as soundtracks through the high school gauntlet. To the things I carry in the compartments of my mind.
I know how to love because I’ve been hated. I know how to sacrifice because I’ve been shown more than selfishness. These are things I haven’t lost and will never lose, even if I can one day forget where they came from. I can tell that my grandfather still has them, and because of that, I can hope that wherever I may have left my car, there are some things I’ll never lose.
RIP, Go-Co 2009-2010. We'll go out with a bang at the Batrave tonight!
Peace, love and black lights,
Miss Rex
I had the best hall ever this year. Thanks, guys, for resurrecting my social life. I made great friends in Claymore and I am sad to see the ghetto basement coffee house relocate to our lame fake pub next year. It's weird to say goodbye to the seniors after looking up to them for the past three years, and even though I have fewer close friends graduating this year than I did last, the ones that are leaving..... how will Go-Co ever be Go-Co without you? It will become a different place, and it will always be deficient without your presence, your advice, your laughter. Without you.
So yeah, before I start bawling my eyes out, here's the thing I wrote, entitled "On Being a Loser."
Every time I go home for the summer I find myself excavating the closet under the eaves in search of something I’ve lost. This also happens at Christmastime, Easter, Thanksgiving, and on sundry weekends throughout the year. I can’t help it; I’m a loser.
My favorite pants went missing for more than half a year. I haven’t seen my hiking boots since high school. There is a tragic space between Mae and Muse on my CD shelf where Matchbox Twenty should be. Sometimes when I leave my dorm I don’t even know where I parked my car. For the record, I hardly ever lose the keys.
But these things are only misplaced. More regrettable are the things that promise to stay lost: the poem I wrote in fourth grade, the recording of my best friend singing about green tea and the word “pshaw,” the plush bear my birth father gave me when I was born (one of the only mementos I had of him).
Are these important losses? I don’t know. For now, I still have the memories. The poem was less important than how nice it felt to see people smile when they read it. It’s not important that the recording got deleted as long as my friend and I can still scream “green tea!” to each other at random and confuse everybody else at parties. Knowing that my father wanted to be remembered is enough to remind me to remember him.
I think the greater losses are the ones we couldn’t hold to begin with. I lost a best friend once, and not knowing what happened to our friendship was volumes worse than not knowing what happened to the many books and CDs absent from my shelves.
I lost my childhood a few years back, and that was a shame, too. Finally realizing what a blessing I had in spite of stupid bullies at school, I’ve returned to my tree-climbing, Disney-watching days as best I can, but it’s not the same as having no obligations.
With the end of the school year looming, I realize I am about to lose something again. More friends are soon to graduate. In another year, I’ll be the one leaving school behind. Maybe then I will look back on these four years the way I look at childhood now.
But I don’t think we really lose the things we leave behind. I think we carry them forever. They carve themselves into the fleshy pink tissue of our brains and into the caverns of our hearts. We don’t lose them because they are us, and if we do lose them it’s because we meant to, or maybe they didn’t pierce us as sharply as we once thought.
My grandfather is losing his memory to Alzheimer’s. To me this seems the greatest loss of all. Everything I create, writing or otherwise, comes back to the friends who left and the ones who stayed, to the parents who loved me enough to give me up to a better life through adoption, to the songs that served as soundtracks through the high school gauntlet. To the things I carry in the compartments of my mind.
I know how to love because I’ve been hated. I know how to sacrifice because I’ve been shown more than selfishness. These are things I haven’t lost and will never lose, even if I can one day forget where they came from. I can tell that my grandfather still has them, and because of that, I can hope that wherever I may have left my car, there are some things I’ll never lose.
RIP, Go-Co 2009-2010. We'll go out with a bang at the Batrave tonight!
Peace, love and black lights,
Miss Rex
Defying woman's intuition
In my head, I have a pretty good sense of what's a good idea and what's not. You hear about a woman's intuition, and I definitely have it. Yet that doesn't stop me from doing a lot of things that I think are bad ideas. Why? I can't explain it. I guess it... generates writing material...?
Even as I'm goofing up, there's a little voice in my head by the name of Jiminy Cricket asking me what the hell I'm getting myself into this time. But what fun would life be if we didn't spend 90% of it defying our better judgment? Thankfully Jiminy is only a cricket, and easy enough to ignore; thus I continue to do the following.
1. Using Facebook. It's such a black hole. At any given moment that I am on Facebook I can usually think of at least fifteen better things I could be doing, yet how can I fight that kind of gravity...?
2. Procrastinating. If it's not due tomorrow, I'm not worried about it (blame #1). Then when it's due tomorrow I don't have enough time to do it. Vicious cycle.
3. Drinking coffee at night. I can only do this if I intend to stay up for at least six more hours, and even after six hours, going to sleep can be problematic. This means I am tired the next day and need more coffee. Another vicious cycle.
4. Foregoing sleep. I can almost get away with alternating nights of no sleep and 12 hours of sleep. Almost. But I'm not saying it's healthy.
5. Agreeing to nap with a certain friend of mine. You'd think by now one of us would have realized we have totally different definitions of napping. If I say I want to nap, it means "I didn't sleep last night. Unconsciousness is necessary RIGHT NOW. I am saying it's cool if you join me a) because you are comfy, b) because I am too tired to argue with you, and/or c) because I want to retain some hope in your half of the species." Somehow my intentions always get lost in translation...
6. Being the sober one. You'd think I'd regret being drunk more than staying sober, but the fact is I hate playing babysitter and I can't handle it when people barf. And I get tired and cold and hungry, which I don't think I would notice if I was drunk.
7. Breaking visitation. I'm not even sure what the consequences are for spending the night in a dude's room but I'm sure they are not pretty, regardless of what actually goes down in said dude's room (the handbook does not differentiate between hawt sex and watching movies about journalism).
8. Climbing buildings. It's a $400 fine if you get caught... but everything is more exciting at higher altitudes, and visitation hours don't apply to rooftops.
9. Playing the awkward game. Letting people know you have no shame is pretty much an invitation for them to try and make you feel uncomfortable. Case in point? I have this one friend who's been trying to wig me out by putting his face really close to mine, so last night I kissed his cheek, which freaked him the heck out. He jumped across the lobby and turned bright red. Funniest thing I've ever seen. So today he happens to walk by while I'm taking down the whiteboard outside my room, runs over, and kisses me on the mouth. And runs away.
Peace, love and true confessions,
Miss Rex
Even as I'm goofing up, there's a little voice in my head by the name of Jiminy Cricket asking me what the hell I'm getting myself into this time. But what fun would life be if we didn't spend 90% of it defying our better judgment? Thankfully Jiminy is only a cricket, and easy enough to ignore; thus I continue to do the following.
1. Using Facebook. It's such a black hole. At any given moment that I am on Facebook I can usually think of at least fifteen better things I could be doing, yet how can I fight that kind of gravity...?
2. Procrastinating. If it's not due tomorrow, I'm not worried about it (blame #1). Then when it's due tomorrow I don't have enough time to do it. Vicious cycle.
3. Drinking coffee at night. I can only do this if I intend to stay up for at least six more hours, and even after six hours, going to sleep can be problematic. This means I am tired the next day and need more coffee. Another vicious cycle.
4. Foregoing sleep. I can almost get away with alternating nights of no sleep and 12 hours of sleep. Almost. But I'm not saying it's healthy.
5. Agreeing to nap with a certain friend of mine. You'd think by now one of us would have realized we have totally different definitions of napping. If I say I want to nap, it means "I didn't sleep last night. Unconsciousness is necessary RIGHT NOW. I am saying it's cool if you join me a) because you are comfy, b) because I am too tired to argue with you, and/or c) because I want to retain some hope in your half of the species." Somehow my intentions always get lost in translation...
6. Being the sober one. You'd think I'd regret being drunk more than staying sober, but the fact is I hate playing babysitter and I can't handle it when people barf. And I get tired and cold and hungry, which I don't think I would notice if I was drunk.
7. Breaking visitation. I'm not even sure what the consequences are for spending the night in a dude's room but I'm sure they are not pretty, regardless of what actually goes down in said dude's room (the handbook does not differentiate between hawt sex and watching movies about journalism).
8. Climbing buildings. It's a $400 fine if you get caught... but everything is more exciting at higher altitudes, and visitation hours don't apply to rooftops.
9. Playing the awkward game. Letting people know you have no shame is pretty much an invitation for them to try and make you feel uncomfortable. Case in point? I have this one friend who's been trying to wig me out by putting his face really close to mine, so last night I kissed his cheek, which freaked him the heck out. He jumped across the lobby and turned bright red. Funniest thing I've ever seen. So today he happens to walk by while I'm taking down the whiteboard outside my room, runs over, and kisses me on the mouth. And runs away.
Peace, love and true confessions,
Miss Rex
The guys who made "Ratatouille" clearly never heard about the Bubonic Plague.
"Watching Disney movies is such a Go-Co thing to do." Yes, it's been said to me. And I won't pretend it isn't true. This campus seems to have an almost inordinate love for all things Disney. At one time I would've rather done anything else on a Saturday night, but apparently part of me falling back in love with this place (which is a story unto itself) is being willing - no, eager - to spend "party night" in front of a TV watching movies intended for children half my age.
Last night's pick was Ratatouille, which I had never seen. It was cute. I laughed. I cheered when the bad guys got miraculously and outrageously owned. But I didn't feel the same sympathy I usually do for movie characters, regardless of species or intended audience, and I couldn't figure out why. I worried I was growing up and losing my ability to suspend disbelief. Yet as a writer and reader I know I'm still capable of investing in a story.
Then I realized the problem.
The movie is all about rats. My literature class just finished reading The Plague. So some little part of my brain cringed every time a rat scampered across a kitchen counter, subconsciously crying out "BLACK DEAAAAAATH!!!"
So not only was watching this movie "a Go-Co thing to do," it was also edumacational!
But other than that it was a pretty good movie. I especially liked that the awkward skinny hero's name was Linguini.
Last night's pick was Ratatouille, which I had never seen. It was cute. I laughed. I cheered when the bad guys got miraculously and outrageously owned. But I didn't feel the same sympathy I usually do for movie characters, regardless of species or intended audience, and I couldn't figure out why. I worried I was growing up and losing my ability to suspend disbelief. Yet as a writer and reader I know I'm still capable of investing in a story.
Then I realized the problem.
The movie is all about rats. My literature class just finished reading The Plague. So some little part of my brain cringed every time a rat scampered across a kitchen counter, subconsciously crying out "BLACK DEAAAAAATH!!!"
So not only was watching this movie "a Go-Co thing to do," it was also edumacational!
But other than that it was a pretty good movie. I especially liked that the awkward skinny hero's name was Linguini.
Buried treasure!
Isn't buried treasure great? I don't mean just the kind at the bottom of the ocean. I mean A bottle of Naked you forgot was in the fridge. $20 bills you didn't know you had (yep, I found one last week. It bought me a new pair of flats, which I would be thrilled to show off if it would stop freaking snowing already). A theatrical morsel you wrote but never published.
You guessed it - I found one of those, too! Enjoy and comment. Your literary critiques are more valuable than forgotten Naked. Maybe even more so than free money... convince me ^_^
(MARCUS and JADE walk into a messy bathroom. JADE has an empty grocery bag in one hand and is dressed/groomed nicely. MARCUS is wearing sweats, hair uncombed.)
JADE: Wow… everything looks exactly the same. It’s like I never left.
MARCUS: Sorry it’s such a fucking mess. My dad lives like a–
JADE: Like a frat boy. I know. Don’t worry about it; I just want to grab my stuff.
(She opens the bottom drawer. MARCUS stands in the doorway and watches, shifting his weight uncomfortably.)
MARCUS: I’d really like to clean this place up.
(Beat; JADE moves pajamas from drawer to bag.)
MARCUS: Dad just gets so pissed when anybody touches anything, y’know?
(Beat; JADE grabs a handful of make-up and throws it in the shopping bag)
MARCUS: But, y’know, he goes to New Orleans in February, so maybe then I can…
JADE: Yeah. (She throws a tube of toothpaste in the bag and shuts the drawer, stands up)
MARCUS: So you’re doing OK? School and everything?
JADE: Well, you know. I like it about as much as I did last year…. (Beat; then, brightly:) But I have an internship now.
MARCUS: That’s great! What are you doing?
JADE: Channel four news.
MARCUS: That’s fucking great!
JADE: Yeah, it’s been fantastic so far. How about you? Written any good songs lately?
MARCUS: No, work’s been kicking my ass. That's what sucks about Christmas. The post office looks like a fucking bomb went off. Hey, you wanna… go grab dinner or something? Catch up?
JADE: Oh, umm… Tonight’s not–
MARCUS: C’mon, I’ll treat.
JADE: With what, your Monopoly credit card?
MARCUS: Hey! I have real money.
JADE: (Laughs) I know, I know. But you like to save it. Don't go throwing it away on my account.
MARCUS: I got paid today. Come on, where should we go? You always like that place, what is it, that place in Gloucester. I’ll take you there.
JADE: (Breaks eye contact, pushes past him to go downstairs) I have to go. My boyfriend’s waiting in the car.
MARCUS: (Looks surprised, but tries not to miss a beat; follows her to the door) Oh. Well, we should hang out soon.
JADE: (Opens front door, faces MARCUS. A black car is parked outside, still running, with said boyfriend in the driver’s seat) Yeah. Well, uh, thanks for my stuff and, uh, take care….
MARCUS: You too. I’ll call you.
JADE: Sounds good. (Leaves, closing door behind her; chuckles softly) Sure you will.
You guessed it - I found one of those, too! Enjoy and comment. Your literary critiques are more valuable than forgotten Naked. Maybe even more so than free money... convince me ^_^
(MARCUS and JADE walk into a messy bathroom. JADE has an empty grocery bag in one hand and is dressed/groomed nicely. MARCUS is wearing sweats, hair uncombed.)
JADE: Wow… everything looks exactly the same. It’s like I never left.
MARCUS: Sorry it’s such a fucking mess. My dad lives like a–
JADE: Like a frat boy. I know. Don’t worry about it; I just want to grab my stuff.
(She opens the bottom drawer. MARCUS stands in the doorway and watches, shifting his weight uncomfortably.)
MARCUS: I’d really like to clean this place up.
(Beat; JADE moves pajamas from drawer to bag.)
MARCUS: Dad just gets so pissed when anybody touches anything, y’know?
(Beat; JADE grabs a handful of make-up and throws it in the shopping bag)
MARCUS: But, y’know, he goes to New Orleans in February, so maybe then I can…
JADE: Yeah. (She throws a tube of toothpaste in the bag and shuts the drawer, stands up)
MARCUS: So you’re doing OK? School and everything?
JADE: Well, you know. I like it about as much as I did last year…. (Beat; then, brightly:) But I have an internship now.
MARCUS: That’s great! What are you doing?
JADE: Channel four news.
MARCUS: That’s fucking great!
JADE: Yeah, it’s been fantastic so far. How about you? Written any good songs lately?
MARCUS: No, work’s been kicking my ass. That's what sucks about Christmas. The post office looks like a fucking bomb went off. Hey, you wanna… go grab dinner or something? Catch up?
JADE: Oh, umm… Tonight’s not–
MARCUS: C’mon, I’ll treat.
JADE: With what, your Monopoly credit card?
MARCUS: Hey! I have real money.
JADE: (Laughs) I know, I know. But you like to save it. Don't go throwing it away on my account.
MARCUS: I got paid today. Come on, where should we go? You always like that place, what is it, that place in Gloucester. I’ll take you there.
JADE: (Breaks eye contact, pushes past him to go downstairs) I have to go. My boyfriend’s waiting in the car.
MARCUS: (Looks surprised, but tries not to miss a beat; follows her to the door) Oh. Well, we should hang out soon.
JADE: (Opens front door, faces MARCUS. A black car is parked outside, still running, with said boyfriend in the driver’s seat) Yeah. Well, uh, thanks for my stuff and, uh, take care….
MARCUS: You too. I’ll call you.
JADE: Sounds good. (Leaves, closing door behind her; chuckles softly) Sure you will.
Damage Report: cones up, power out, pants down
I am at Starbucks. Yeah, I know. I never go to Starbucks. They are overrated, overpriced, and don't even make very good coffee in my opinion. And apparently EVERY parent on the north shore takes their kids here in the morning... huh?? But the Go-Co has no power today, and thus all networks are down. Even here I can't get my email. And my battery still has 63% to go before it's fully charged, which it has to be before I go back because there is no electricity at Go-Co. Well... I guess there's the new science building in a pinch.
I happened to be hyped up on coffee when shit (and trees) went down last night and thus was compelled to run around campus playing private eye. I'm not sure when the adrenaline replaced the caffeine. It seemed like a sweet deal last night, but both have worn off now and Miss Rex is ready for naptime. But before I pass out, here's the scoop:
“It was a dark and stormy night” doesn’t even begin to cover it. 40-50-mile-per-hour winds lashed rain against the windows; students sitting nearby kept wary eyes on the glass. Here in the Fishbowl, Taz and I closed the blinds for protection after watching the glass bow inwards like mere canvas. Then, around 11PM, a tree fell near the chapel, taking out some wires and cutting off electricity across campus.
“We’ll definitely be without power until at least the morning,” Go-Po Officer Cherry said at about 1:00 this morning. “National Grid hasn’t even responded because it looks like a bomb went off in the next town.” Other officials estimate that we could be without power until Friday afternoon. Authorities decided to cancel classes for Friday, February 25.
Because of the fallen tree, the main exit from campus was blocked off with cones and traffic was redirected through what, under normal circumstances, is an entrance only.
Newer residence halls, such as Chase and the buildings on the hill, were fully lit by generators, but the HUD dorms were completely dark. Students living in road halls were re-located.
“We want to make sure all the dorms have heat and fire alarms,” said Cherry.
In addition to the tree by the chapel, a second tree fell on the Emery side of Jenks, breaking a fourth floor window and gouging the bricks. Some of the trunk has been cleared, but the ground is still littered with debris and one branch settled on the roof. Another tree fell in front of Frost. Three more went down beside the road that goes past Drew Hall.
The wind ripped the front right door off the chapel, exposing live wires that officials have since shut off. But most mysteriously of all, a chunk of the public safety building now lies in the middle of the school’s main entrance. No trees fell in the vicinity. “It’s like the wind just ripped a chunk of stone off the building and hurled it into the street,” said one officer.
The blackout brought out the best and worst of students. Some halls used it as an excuse to bond: students in Ferrin had homework parties in the generator-lit hallways and played games in the first floor lobby. Others went puddle jumping and streaking. One account even said that students were looting the dining hall, although this has not been confirmed. Apparently Go-Co students can get away with anything in a crisis, and those of us who are smart realized this and took full advantage. I'm not one of the smart ones.
This guy I befriended during my sleuthing adventure summed it up as poetically as he was able at 2:30AM, after a night that most of Go-Co will find hard to forget: “The wind came through, the trees came down, the cones went up, and the pants went down.”
Now I am going back to sleep, since I got about four hours before rushing out to the only place I could think of with WiFi to break the story to the school paper. In retrospect my mad dash here was pointless because no one on campus has the Internet to read the story anyway and most of the damage is pretty self-evident. It was also poorly thought out because Panera would have been open by now and their wireless doesn't cost money...
I happened to be hyped up on coffee when shit (and trees) went down last night and thus was compelled to run around campus playing private eye. I'm not sure when the adrenaline replaced the caffeine. It seemed like a sweet deal last night, but both have worn off now and Miss Rex is ready for naptime. But before I pass out, here's the scoop:
“It was a dark and stormy night” doesn’t even begin to cover it. 40-50-mile-per-hour winds lashed rain against the windows; students sitting nearby kept wary eyes on the glass. Here in the Fishbowl, Taz and I closed the blinds for protection after watching the glass bow inwards like mere canvas. Then, around 11PM, a tree fell near the chapel, taking out some wires and cutting off electricity across campus.
“We’ll definitely be without power until at least the morning,” Go-Po Officer Cherry said at about 1:00 this morning. “National Grid hasn’t even responded because it looks like a bomb went off in the next town.” Other officials estimate that we could be without power until Friday afternoon. Authorities decided to cancel classes for Friday, February 25.
Because of the fallen tree, the main exit from campus was blocked off with cones and traffic was redirected through what, under normal circumstances, is an entrance only.
Newer residence halls, such as Chase and the buildings on the hill, were fully lit by generators, but the HUD dorms were completely dark. Students living in road halls were re-located.
“We want to make sure all the dorms have heat and fire alarms,” said Cherry.
In addition to the tree by the chapel, a second tree fell on the Emery side of Jenks, breaking a fourth floor window and gouging the bricks. Some of the trunk has been cleared, but the ground is still littered with debris and one branch settled on the roof. Another tree fell in front of Frost. Three more went down beside the road that goes past Drew Hall.
The wind ripped the front right door off the chapel, exposing live wires that officials have since shut off. But most mysteriously of all, a chunk of the public safety building now lies in the middle of the school’s main entrance. No trees fell in the vicinity. “It’s like the wind just ripped a chunk of stone off the building and hurled it into the street,” said one officer.
The blackout brought out the best and worst of students. Some halls used it as an excuse to bond: students in Ferrin had homework parties in the generator-lit hallways and played games in the first floor lobby. Others went puddle jumping and streaking. One account even said that students were looting the dining hall, although this has not been confirmed. Apparently Go-Co students can get away with anything in a crisis, and those of us who are smart realized this and took full advantage. I'm not one of the smart ones.
This guy I befriended during my sleuthing adventure summed it up as poetically as he was able at 2:30AM, after a night that most of Go-Co will find hard to forget: “The wind came through, the trees came down, the cones went up, and the pants went down.”
Now I am going back to sleep, since I got about four hours before rushing out to the only place I could think of with WiFi to break the story to the school paper. In retrospect my mad dash here was pointless because no one on campus has the Internet to read the story anyway and most of the damage is pretty self-evident. It was also poorly thought out because Panera would have been open by now and their wireless doesn't cost money...
Fame! (Doodlybop)
SO MANY GREAT THINGS ARE HAPPENING RIGHT NOW. I don't even know what to do. Maybe like, dance party plus eat cookies times hug people squared....
Saturday was Adam Ezra Group's CD (re)release party at the Paradise. As I mentioned before, I got to chat it up with Adam freakin' Ezra last week, as I was hyping the party in this article I was writing for my journalism internship.
Said article is now on BOSTON.COM!!! This is.... (I'm searching for an adjective that could possibly encompass my excitement)... Radical! Stellar! Fan-freakin'-tabulous!!! Yes, the plethora of exclamation points is NECESSARY!!!!!
Ahem. So, that's the big news.
The party was great fun! I was one of the first people inbecause I'm a groupie like that because I seriously overestimated how long I would be lost in the labyrinthine, unlabeled streets of Boston even with my new GPS. Said hello to Turtle and Robin Vincent on my way in. Claimed the best spot in the house - front and dead center, leaning on the speakers - and waited that last agonizing hour between doors and showtime.
The first band was called Girls Guns and Glory. They're the sort of band that are a lot of fun live but not really something I'd listen to in my car, or anywhere else. Too western-sounding. But there was a guy with an accordion, which rocked, and the bassist had this weird upright bass with no body, just all neck. And of course, I was close enough to reach out and play the lead singer's guitar if I'd wanted to, but I'm not into the whole interfering-with-the-show bit.
But some people are into that sort of thing. This one young lady clambered over all of us in the front row and started dancing on stage. ("I thought this place used to have security," said the woman next to me. Yeah, I thought so too.) The band just kept playing; I don't think there was much else they could do. Then the song ended and Very Drunk Dancing Girl gave them all kisses and hopped off the stage. Good gravy. People.
Then it was Adam Ezra Group's turn to play. I've never seen people so jazzed about them, yelling and singing and dancing like that - I mean, it was more upbeat than the last Relient K show I saw! Somehow that just shouldn't happen. Even I, who had spent two and a half days with my face buried in a tissue, was singing my heart out. In fact, I might even credit this show with curing me. Anyway it cured, or at least boosted, my rather drab outlook on life. AND, Adam bent down away from the mic mid-song to tell me, "Great article!"
It's hard NOT to be inspired when a band you love decides to share the spotlight on their big night and give all the money they make to Haiti relief efforts. They passed around the Love Bucket (a.k.a. a re-labeled recycling bin) and people filled it with even MORE money, after they had already donated just by buying a ticket. Adam dumped it all out on stage and they played the rest of the show wading through a sea of cash. I was devastated that I hadn't brought my camera. You'll just have to use your imagination.
But it would have been inspiring even minus the Haiti angle and minus the "great article" comment. Adam is one of those people, like Jon Foreman, that can make things seem better just by being in the same room. I don't get how people can do that. Granted, he was pretty giddy himself; Aerosmith's bassist came out and played a song with them, and Adam's only looked up to the guy for like, his entire life.
Then Very Drunk Dancing Girl returned for an encore (I couldn't believe they hadn't made her leave). This time she brought a friend. Security actually showed up and tried to get them to leave, but the friend wouldn't go until she'd told Turtle "I love you!" and kissed Adam on the cheek. God. No shame.
We all had a great time being rowdy and obnoxious during the new song, "Scandal," but I think the most fun was when everyone from both bands came out on stage for Bob Dylan's "Wagon Wheel." It was one of those bighappyfamily moments, with everyone on stage and the whole crowd singing and dancing along. That's why AEG is different from other bands. Other band have fans; AEG has a family. Aww cute.
Well that's all for now; stay tuned since I've got a new scene to post after tomorrow's playwright's workshop!
Peace, love, and FAME!
~ Miss Rex
Saturday was Adam Ezra Group's CD (re)release party at the Paradise. As I mentioned before, I got to chat it up with Adam freakin' Ezra last week, as I was hyping the party in this article I was writing for my journalism internship.
Said article is now on BOSTON.COM!!! This is.... (I'm searching for an adjective that could possibly encompass my excitement)... Radical! Stellar! Fan-freakin'-tabulous!!! Yes, the plethora of exclamation points is NECESSARY!!!!!
Ahem. So, that's the big news.
The party was great fun! I was one of the first people in
The first band was called Girls Guns and Glory. They're the sort of band that are a lot of fun live but not really something I'd listen to in my car, or anywhere else. Too western-sounding. But there was a guy with an accordion, which rocked, and the bassist had this weird upright bass with no body, just all neck. And of course, I was close enough to reach out and play the lead singer's guitar if I'd wanted to, but I'm not into the whole interfering-with-the-show bit.
But some people are into that sort of thing. This one young lady clambered over all of us in the front row and started dancing on stage. ("I thought this place used to have security," said the woman next to me. Yeah, I thought so too.) The band just kept playing; I don't think there was much else they could do. Then the song ended and Very Drunk Dancing Girl gave them all kisses and hopped off the stage. Good gravy. People.
Then it was Adam Ezra Group's turn to play. I've never seen people so jazzed about them, yelling and singing and dancing like that - I mean, it was more upbeat than the last Relient K show I saw! Somehow that just shouldn't happen. Even I, who had spent two and a half days with my face buried in a tissue, was singing my heart out. In fact, I might even credit this show with curing me. Anyway it cured, or at least boosted, my rather drab outlook on life. AND, Adam bent down away from the mic mid-song to tell me, "Great article!"
It's hard NOT to be inspired when a band you love decides to share the spotlight on their big night and give all the money they make to Haiti relief efforts. They passed around the Love Bucket (a.k.a. a re-labeled recycling bin) and people filled it with even MORE money, after they had already donated just by buying a ticket. Adam dumped it all out on stage and they played the rest of the show wading through a sea of cash. I was devastated that I hadn't brought my camera. You'll just have to use your imagination.
But it would have been inspiring even minus the Haiti angle and minus the "great article" comment. Adam is one of those people, like Jon Foreman, that can make things seem better just by being in the same room. I don't get how people can do that. Granted, he was pretty giddy himself; Aerosmith's bassist came out and played a song with them, and Adam's only looked up to the guy for like, his entire life.
Then Very Drunk Dancing Girl returned for an encore (I couldn't believe they hadn't made her leave). This time she brought a friend. Security actually showed up and tried to get them to leave, but the friend wouldn't go until she'd told Turtle "I love you!" and kissed Adam on the cheek. God. No shame.
We all had a great time being rowdy and obnoxious during the new song, "Scandal," but I think the most fun was when everyone from both bands came out on stage for Bob Dylan's "Wagon Wheel." It was one of those bighappyfamily moments, with everyone on stage and the whole crowd singing and dancing along. That's why AEG is different from other bands. Other band have fans; AEG has a family. Aww cute.
Well that's all for now; stay tuned since I've got a new scene to post after tomorrow's playwright's workshop!
Peace, love, and FAME!
~ Miss Rex
A tale of two homecomings
Sorry for the lengthy absence, my friends. I've been really down on myself this month and not into the whole going-back-to-school-AGAIN deal, which makes a poor catalyst for writing. Or anything else, for that matter. Lucky for the blogging world, I'm in an incredible mood today in spite of many stupid inconveniences (parking lot clearings, fire drill, bad head cold, fish poop). So it's update time!
I have my four favorite professors this semester and I actually care about all the subjects I'm taking. This may be surprising since I was in my mother's room sobbing about the prospect of taking classes just last week, but the more I get into the rhythm the better my outlook becomes. Being here really is like being home in a way. Some part of me belongs here.
Reasons this semester will/already does kick ass: I'm finally going to read the classics, or at least a few of them, in western lit (but so far all we've done is Gilgamesh and Genesis - ick). My internship afforded me the chance to talk to Adam Ezra at length last week (Wanda was thrilled when she found out I actually got his phone number after she made me promise to). I'm taking philosophy for kicks and giggles (I know that sounds insane, but Brian Glenney is teaching it).
And then.....
Then there's playwriting.
I've only had one other class with Mark, the prof (I love how all my favorite profs refuse to be called by their last names), and I already like this one better, even though I was way nervous to be trying my hand at a new genre. I'm a novelist, not a playwright. I haven't written a play since like fifth grade when my best friend and I tried to write a Pokemon fan-fic saga for the theater.
That being said, as far as novels go, dialogue has always been my strength. It comes naturally. So this class is filled with the most fun part of writing! Yet I'm already learning so much about other elements of storytelling. That's what I love about writing classes: What you're learning tends to inform every other kind of writing you'll do.
So short story long, I'm having so much fun with my playwriting exercises that I want to post them here. For fun (and because The Pantsless One yelled at me yesterday for not blogging). This exercise is called "Unspoken Word." The idea is to convey a specific word through dialogue and actions but not state it outright. So without further ado, I give you The Homecoming.
POLLY (15, dressed stylishly, wearing Ugg boots; arms are crossed and she takes an irritated tone) and her MOTHER (late forties, looks like she hasn’t slept much) are in the pantry. MOTHER is staring at shelves of canned vegetables.
POLLY: Don’t ask me. I hate both.
MOTHER: (Pleasantly as she reaches for a can of peppers) You like the chili.
POLLY: No, Derek likes the chili. Just because Derek likes something doesn’t mean everybody does.
MOTHER: (Reaches instead for a can of corn) Well then I’ll make him the shepherd’s pie. He always liked that.
POLLY: Mmk. Whatevs.
MOTHER: (Raises voice) You know, Polly, you’re being a real brat. Derek’s been away for six months. Thank God we can have dinner with him at all… (trails off)
(POLLY glares at MOTHER, then drops her eyes but doesn’t argue back.)
MOTHER: I know things will be different when he moves back in, but try to be sympathetic, okay?
POLLY: Because I’m sure that’s what he wants, Mom. People feeling bad for him.
MOTHER: Don’t antagonize him, Polly. Don’t ask questions about the… place… or what he did, or why. Okay? Until things go back to normal, Derek gets treated like a prince.
POLLY: (mutters) Doesn’t he always?
MOTHER: That’s enough! Go upstairs and make sure all your razors and little pointy manicure things are out of the bathroom before he gets here.
POLLY: I already did.
MOTHER: (Sighs and rubs eyeballs hard) Just… try to be helpful, okay?
POLLY: (Softly) I’m making him Boston crème pie. From scratch.
(POLLY starts to cry)
POLLY: (Sobbing) Mom… what if he does it again?
Can you guess the unspoken word...?
I have my four favorite professors this semester and I actually care about all the subjects I'm taking. This may be surprising since I was in my mother's room sobbing about the prospect of taking classes just last week, but the more I get into the rhythm the better my outlook becomes. Being here really is like being home in a way. Some part of me belongs here.
Reasons this semester will/already does kick ass: I'm finally going to read the classics, or at least a few of them, in western lit (but so far all we've done is Gilgamesh and Genesis - ick). My internship afforded me the chance to talk to Adam Ezra at length last week (Wanda was thrilled when she found out I actually got his phone number after she made me promise to). I'm taking philosophy for kicks and giggles (I know that sounds insane, but Brian Glenney is teaching it).
And then.....
Then there's playwriting.
I've only had one other class with Mark, the prof (I love how all my favorite profs refuse to be called by their last names), and I already like this one better, even though I was way nervous to be trying my hand at a new genre. I'm a novelist, not a playwright. I haven't written a play since like fifth grade when my best friend and I tried to write a Pokemon fan-fic saga for the theater.
That being said, as far as novels go, dialogue has always been my strength. It comes naturally. So this class is filled with the most fun part of writing! Yet I'm already learning so much about other elements of storytelling. That's what I love about writing classes: What you're learning tends to inform every other kind of writing you'll do.
So short story long, I'm having so much fun with my playwriting exercises that I want to post them here. For fun (and because The Pantsless One yelled at me yesterday for not blogging). This exercise is called "Unspoken Word." The idea is to convey a specific word through dialogue and actions but not state it outright. So without further ado, I give you The Homecoming.
POLLY (15, dressed stylishly, wearing Ugg boots; arms are crossed and she takes an irritated tone) and her MOTHER (late forties, looks like she hasn’t slept much) are in the pantry. MOTHER is staring at shelves of canned vegetables.
POLLY: Don’t ask me. I hate both.
MOTHER: (Pleasantly as she reaches for a can of peppers) You like the chili.
POLLY: No, Derek likes the chili. Just because Derek likes something doesn’t mean everybody does.
MOTHER: (Reaches instead for a can of corn) Well then I’ll make him the shepherd’s pie. He always liked that.
POLLY: Mmk. Whatevs.
MOTHER: (Raises voice) You know, Polly, you’re being a real brat. Derek’s been away for six months. Thank God we can have dinner with him at all… (trails off)
(POLLY glares at MOTHER, then drops her eyes but doesn’t argue back.)
MOTHER: I know things will be different when he moves back in, but try to be sympathetic, okay?
POLLY: Because I’m sure that’s what he wants, Mom. People feeling bad for him.
MOTHER: Don’t antagonize him, Polly. Don’t ask questions about the… place… or what he did, or why. Okay? Until things go back to normal, Derek gets treated like a prince.
POLLY: (mutters) Doesn’t he always?
MOTHER: That’s enough! Go upstairs and make sure all your razors and little pointy manicure things are out of the bathroom before he gets here.
POLLY: I already did.
MOTHER: (Sighs and rubs eyeballs hard) Just… try to be helpful, okay?
POLLY: (Softly) I’m making him Boston crème pie. From scratch.
(POLLY starts to cry)
POLLY: (Sobbing) Mom… what if he does it again?
Can you guess the unspoken word...?
Scatterday
...in which Miss Rex shares random moments of amusement, frustration, and enlightenment from her week.
------------------------------
The other morning, a group of men were outside my window with what sounded like a jackhammer. Turned out they were drilling holes in the soil. Lots of them. As if the groundskeepers' perpetual mowing of our ten-foot strip of lawn wasn't noisy enough, now we got drillers, too.
------------------------------
This year I finally won Homecoming Queen! To win, all you have to do is win more spirit points than anybody else by dressing in spirit week attire from Monday through Thursday. Last year I had 289 points and didn't win, so I made grand plans to outdo myself.
Monday: wear attire bearing the school's name or logo.
I got 50 points that day. Meh. I could do better.
Tuesday: Tartan day - wear anything plaid, or remotely checkered/argyle/houndstooth, for points.
I got 67 points. Getting better. I thank my floor for this victory.
Wednesday: Wear your class color! Ours has historically been "rust red." No one knows what exactly that means - it's sort of an orangey color that no one actually owns, so we've always just worn red. But this year some of the spirit week ads said to wear red, and some said to wear orange. My simple solution was to wear both. Unfortunately I was on my own that night, so I haven't got any pictures. I got 126 points; use your imagination.
Thursday: 80s day. This was difficult because it was less about what you wore and more about how you wore it. Shirt off the shoulder. Bra over shirt. Jacket over bra. Mismatched earrings. I did it all, somehow, but the most fabulous part of my fantabulous get-up was the boom box I borrowed from my RA. I made an 80s mix and blasted it as I made my way across campus to get my points tallied.
It came out to 53.
Grand total: 298 (including bagpipe blitz points, which you earn by running to the mini-quad whenever you hear the bagpipes play.) Incidentally, that was 200 points more than the runner up (now I feel kind of bad). Apparently everyone else with spirit graduated or went abroad. I feel like it was an anticlimactic contest, even though I won.
But I DID get more points than the homecoming king! Nyaa
------------------------------
We had a variety show earlier. Boyfriend and I got there late and were really confused when the ushers asked us to take bags before sitting down. They were just brown paper lunch bags, filled with school paraphernalia, a program, and another, folded-up brown paper lunch bag. Umm.........kay?
But when some music majors took the stage for a round of "Piano Hero," all became clear. There were four of them playing the 1812 Overture on two grand pianos, and our brown paper bags were to be the cannons.
After popping them, we and everyone else in the balcony balled up the bags and catapulted them into the audience below us, shouting "CANNONBALLS!"
------------------------------
According to a local newspaper, some schools are now offering cash rewards for students who take AP classes. What total bullshit is that?! I had to pay EXTRA to take AP classes! I had to buy 20-pound college textbooks and pay exam fees come spring. Not that these kids won't have to pay for those things. It'll just get balanced out by what the school pays them to enroll.
You know what these classes will look like, don't you? Remember how my friends and I entertained ourselves during my AP English class? Teachers will have hordes of students who don't give a shit about the subject. They won't want to work hard. They won't care. The kids who actually want to learn, say, history or chemistry at an advanced level will suffer as the class is brought down to the level of those who are only in it for the money.
I know I'm an idealist, but I just think schools should be about learning, that's all.
------------------------------
How do blind people experience dreams? Do they have REM sleep? Are there images in their heads or is the dream world the same as the waking world for them - comprised of sounds, smells, sensations and flavors... without sight?
------------------------------
Note: Thanks to Cynthia@RunningWithLetters for letting me know my comment link was broken! It's all better now, so leave some love!
------------------------------
The other morning, a group of men were outside my window with what sounded like a jackhammer. Turned out they were drilling holes in the soil. Lots of them. As if the groundskeepers' perpetual mowing of our ten-foot strip of lawn wasn't noisy enough, now we got drillers, too.
------------------------------
This year I finally won Homecoming Queen! To win, all you have to do is win more spirit points than anybody else by dressing in spirit week attire from Monday through Thursday. Last year I had 289 points and didn't win, so I made grand plans to outdo myself.
Monday: wear attire bearing the school's name or logo.
I got 50 points that day. Meh. I could do better.Tuesday: Tartan day - wear anything plaid, or remotely checkered/argyle/houndstooth, for points.
I got 67 points. Getting better. I thank my floor for this victory.Wednesday: Wear your class color! Ours has historically been "rust red." No one knows what exactly that means - it's sort of an orangey color that no one actually owns, so we've always just worn red. But this year some of the spirit week ads said to wear red, and some said to wear orange. My simple solution was to wear both. Unfortunately I was on my own that night, so I haven't got any pictures. I got 126 points; use your imagination.
Thursday: 80s day. This was difficult because it was less about what you wore and more about how you wore it. Shirt off the shoulder. Bra over shirt. Jacket over bra. Mismatched earrings. I did it all, somehow, but the most fabulous part of my fantabulous get-up was the boom box I borrowed from my RA. I made an 80s mix and blasted it as I made my way across campus to get my points tallied.
It came out to 53.Grand total: 298 (including bagpipe blitz points, which you earn by running to the mini-quad whenever you hear the bagpipes play.) Incidentally, that was 200 points more than the runner up (now I feel kind of bad). Apparently everyone else with spirit graduated or went abroad. I feel like it was an anticlimactic contest, even though I won.
But I DID get more points than the homecoming king! Nyaa
------------------------------
We had a variety show earlier. Boyfriend and I got there late and were really confused when the ushers asked us to take bags before sitting down. They were just brown paper lunch bags, filled with school paraphernalia, a program, and another, folded-up brown paper lunch bag. Umm.........kay?
But when some music majors took the stage for a round of "Piano Hero," all became clear. There were four of them playing the 1812 Overture on two grand pianos, and our brown paper bags were to be the cannons.
After popping them, we and everyone else in the balcony balled up the bags and catapulted them into the audience below us, shouting "CANNONBALLS!"
------------------------------
According to a local newspaper, some schools are now offering cash rewards for students who take AP classes. What total bullshit is that?! I had to pay EXTRA to take AP classes! I had to buy 20-pound college textbooks and pay exam fees come spring. Not that these kids won't have to pay for those things. It'll just get balanced out by what the school pays them to enroll.
You know what these classes will look like, don't you? Remember how my friends and I entertained ourselves during my AP English class? Teachers will have hordes of students who don't give a shit about the subject. They won't want to work hard. They won't care. The kids who actually want to learn, say, history or chemistry at an advanced level will suffer as the class is brought down to the level of those who are only in it for the money.
I know I'm an idealist, but I just think schools should be about learning, that's all.
------------------------------
How do blind people experience dreams? Do they have REM sleep? Are there images in their heads or is the dream world the same as the waking world for them - comprised of sounds, smells, sensations and flavors... without sight?
------------------------------
Note: Thanks to Cynthia@RunningWithLetters for letting me know my comment link was broken! It's all better now, so leave some love!
"I'm a good lesbian!"
True confession: even though I like to pretend I’m BA, at heart I am a bona fide goody two shoes. Yet the beginning-of-term hall meeting always fills me with a sense of dread, especially on the issue of visitation. Nothing ever changes (except that we’re now allowed opposite-sex guests on Thursdays), so why does it feel like the visitation laws get stricter every year?
Hours: 5-10PM Mon-Thurs
5-12AM Friday
1PM-12AM Saturday
1PM-10PM Sunday
There will be “no excessive public displays of affection” in the privacy of your room. This means, beyond clothes staying on, you may not kiss and you may not lie down together (commonly called “snuggling” or “spooning”). And they will know if you try to pull one over on them. Lights must be on. Door must be *fully* open.
However, you may have a guest of the same sex at any hour of any day. You may have the lights on or off, however you like ‘em. You may have the door open or closed – no one cares. And, you may snuggle or spoon as much as you like.
Doesn’t this seem a bit suspicious to you? I’m starting to suspect my school wants students to make the switch to lesbianism (or, conversely, gay…ism?). Last year they made a big deal about “understanding and accepting students who belong to the LGBT community” even though their lifestyle is “against the Bible.” We must “show them Christ’s love” and “not alienate them,” since school should be a “safe” environment for everybody.
Note, it does NOT have to be a “safe” environment for traditional male-female couples who, at our age and regardless of religious inclination, WILL become sexually frustrated if they are not allowed some small amount of physical affection with their significant others. Have you SEEN the pageants our male students put on? Good gravy!
I do not condone “liberated” mentality or “experimentation.” I’m not asking for sexy time in the dorms. I do, however, condone healthy physical relationships between committed couples. Why is that such a bad thing to so many Christians???
Okay, I wouldn’t care quite so much, except my boy is coming to visit for my birthday, and it would be great if we could make out even a teensy weensy little bit. So sue me.
Hours: 5-10PM Mon-Thurs
5-12AM Friday
1PM-12AM Saturday
1PM-10PM Sunday
There will be “no excessive public displays of affection” in the privacy of your room. This means, beyond clothes staying on, you may not kiss and you may not lie down together (commonly called “snuggling” or “spooning”). And they will know if you try to pull one over on them. Lights must be on. Door must be *fully* open.
However, you may have a guest of the same sex at any hour of any day. You may have the lights on or off, however you like ‘em. You may have the door open or closed – no one cares. And, you may snuggle or spoon as much as you like.
Doesn’t this seem a bit suspicious to you? I’m starting to suspect my school wants students to make the switch to lesbianism (or, conversely, gay…ism?). Last year they made a big deal about “understanding and accepting students who belong to the LGBT community” even though their lifestyle is “against the Bible.” We must “show them Christ’s love” and “not alienate them,” since school should be a “safe” environment for everybody.
Note, it does NOT have to be a “safe” environment for traditional male-female couples who, at our age and regardless of religious inclination, WILL become sexually frustrated if they are not allowed some small amount of physical affection with their significant others. Have you SEEN the pageants our male students put on? Good gravy!
I do not condone “liberated” mentality or “experimentation.” I’m not asking for sexy time in the dorms. I do, however, condone healthy physical relationships between committed couples. Why is that such a bad thing to so many Christians???
Okay, I wouldn’t care quite so much, except my boy is coming to visit for my birthday, and it would be great if we could make out even a teensy weensy little bit. So sue me.
