I have recently come to the conclusion that the "one post a week" rule currently informally in place within the Carson extended family is entirely fallacious. If I have nothing to say, I shouldn't waste my time and yours trying to come up with something that will not turn out to be entertaining, insightful, or edifying. On the other hand, one should probably have at least one entertaining, insightful, or edifying thought worth articulating per week. However, I am hereby declaring my renunciation of making up fluffy posts with no substance just so I can say that I have posted this week.
Incidentally, today is one such day. I have nothing to say, but I said it brilliantly. (Oscar Wilde said that. Either that or Dr. Who. One of the two.)
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Friday, April 06, 2007
Tag, I'm It.
I have been tagged with this survey thing by my dear Aunt Cathy. Never one to pass up an opportunity to go on and on about myself, I am posting it here.
1. What time is it?
11:43 when I started this madness, 12:15 when I finished.
2. Name (include any nicknames):
Aubrianne MacKenzie Carson. My parents certainly didn't scrimp on syllables. Nicknames: Aub, Baub, Baubitt, Bibbidy Baubitty Boo, Bibbit, Auby-Bauby (an old one, c. 7th grade)
3. What are you most afraid of?
Being inferior.
4. What do you drive?
White Dodge Caravan, baby!
5. Have you ever seen a ghost?
No... but in elementary school my friend told me she had. I laughed at her.
6. Where were you born?
Sacred Heart Hospital, Eugene, Oregon, USA, Earth.
7. Ever been to Alaska ?
No.
8. Ever been toilet papering, or rolling in decorating trees?
No. I live a dull life.
9. Croutons or bacon bits?
Croutons, with or without salad.
10. Favorite day of the week?
No.
11 FAVORITE RESTURANT?
Cafe Yumm. I like the Yumm baby and the edamame Yumm. Rice kicks butt!
12. Favorite flowers?
Ummm... not carnations. Those things just look fake. I like lilies, I guess.
13. Favorite sport to watch?
Dance is a sport. Anyone who says otherwise can convince me by getting a football team to wear pointe shoes without complaining.
14. Favorite Drink
Various tea-related cold beverages, but not just iced tea.
15. Favorite Ice cream:
I have recently decided to eat ice cream despite my lactose intolerance, so, for the first time in my life, I have an actual answer to this question! In my opinion, it's hard to go wrong with a good vanilla.
16. Favorite fast food restaurant:
Eaugh. Why don't you just deep fry my soul while you're at it?
17. Hobbies?
Aside from the obvious dance and cello, I enjoy crocheting, origami, reading PG Wodehouse (favorite author of the week), reading Douglas Adams, reading almost anything I can get my hands on, eating, playing "classic" (i.e. old) Lucasarts adventure games (They have done nothing but Star Wars for far too long. Just who do they think they are, trying to make money? Sheesh.), exploring unusual relationships to gravity, sleeping, and boiling water in my 'lectric kettle.
18. What color is your bedroom carpet?
Dirt color. Not because it's dirty, it came that way. At least this way I don't have to vacuum.
19. How many times you failed your driver's test?
None. Ha!
20. From whom did you get your last email?
Someone who had some update about some Rotary exchange thing.
21. What do you do most often if you are bored?
See hobbies and TV shows.
22. Bedtime?
No.
23: Favorite TV show(s):
Mythbusters, Dharma and Greg, Whose Line is it Anyway?, Scrubs.
24. What are you listening to right now?
David Crowder band.
25. What are your favorite colors?
Either green or dark gray, depending on my mood.
26. How many tattoos do you have?
None, but I've had two henna tattoos.
27. Do you have any pets?
Not unless you count Tanner.
28. Which came first the chicken or the egg?
God came first. Then he made both.
29. What would you like to accomplish before you die?
Skydive, learn to fire a bow and arrow, hike around Europe for a while, fall madly in love, go on a LONG road trip, grow dreadlocks, go vegetarian for a while, play the cello in a tutu, do aerial ballet, play a major role in a Shakespearean play (Beatrice, maybe?), etc. Didn't I do a post about this a while ago?
I tag... Tanner. And Dad. So you guys had better answer these questions. I'll be looking.
1. What time is it?
11:43 when I started this madness, 12:15 when I finished.
2. Name (include any nicknames):
Aubrianne MacKenzie Carson. My parents certainly didn't scrimp on syllables. Nicknames: Aub, Baub, Baubitt, Bibbidy Baubitty Boo, Bibbit, Auby-Bauby (an old one, c. 7th grade)
3. What are you most afraid of?
Being inferior.
4. What do you drive?
White Dodge Caravan, baby!
5. Have you ever seen a ghost?
No... but in elementary school my friend told me she had. I laughed at her.
6. Where were you born?
Sacred Heart Hospital, Eugene, Oregon, USA, Earth.
7. Ever been to Alaska ?
No.
8. Ever been toilet papering, or rolling in decorating trees?
No. I live a dull life.
9. Croutons or bacon bits?
Croutons, with or without salad.
10. Favorite day of the week?
No.
11 FAVORITE RESTURANT?
Cafe Yumm. I like the Yumm baby and the edamame Yumm. Rice kicks butt!
12. Favorite flowers?
Ummm... not carnations. Those things just look fake. I like lilies, I guess.
13. Favorite sport to watch?
Dance is a sport. Anyone who says otherwise can convince me by getting a football team to wear pointe shoes without complaining.
14. Favorite Drink
Various tea-related cold beverages, but not just iced tea.
15. Favorite Ice cream:
I have recently decided to eat ice cream despite my lactose intolerance, so, for the first time in my life, I have an actual answer to this question! In my opinion, it's hard to go wrong with a good vanilla.
16. Favorite fast food restaurant:
Eaugh. Why don't you just deep fry my soul while you're at it?
17. Hobbies?
Aside from the obvious dance and cello, I enjoy crocheting, origami, reading PG Wodehouse (favorite author of the week), reading Douglas Adams, reading almost anything I can get my hands on, eating, playing "classic" (i.e. old) Lucasarts adventure games (They have done nothing but Star Wars for far too long. Just who do they think they are, trying to make money? Sheesh.), exploring unusual relationships to gravity, sleeping, and boiling water in my 'lectric kettle.
18. What color is your bedroom carpet?
Dirt color. Not because it's dirty, it came that way. At least this way I don't have to vacuum.
19. How many times you failed your driver's test?
None. Ha!
20. From whom did you get your last email?
Someone who had some update about some Rotary exchange thing.
21. What do you do most often if you are bored?
See hobbies and TV shows.
22. Bedtime?
No.
23: Favorite TV show(s):
Mythbusters, Dharma and Greg, Whose Line is it Anyway?, Scrubs.
24. What are you listening to right now?
David Crowder band.
25. What are your favorite colors?
Either green or dark gray, depending on my mood.
26. How many tattoos do you have?
None, but I've had two henna tattoos.
27. Do you have any pets?
Not unless you count Tanner.
28. Which came first the chicken or the egg?
God came first. Then he made both.
29. What would you like to accomplish before you die?
Skydive, learn to fire a bow and arrow, hike around Europe for a while, fall madly in love, go on a LONG road trip, grow dreadlocks, go vegetarian for a while, play the cello in a tutu, do aerial ballet, play a major role in a Shakespearean play (Beatrice, maybe?), etc. Didn't I do a post about this a while ago?
I tag... Tanner. And Dad. So you guys had better answer these questions. I'll be looking.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Today
I just got home from dance. Of course, by "just got home," I mean "said 'Hi' to Mom, went into the kitchen, gulped a huge glass of water, refilled it with juice, gulped that, then came upstairs, put the kettle on, checked a few websites, contemplated checking either the 11 emails or 20 voicemails that somehow stacked up while I wasn't looking, put on pajamas, came back to the computer and opened a new post, went to get a sweater because the sweat had dried and I was cold, got a lemon-ginger teabag out of my purse, threw away the teabag left in the otherwise empty mug on my desk, turned on the David Crowder Band, rinsed the mug a little, made the tea, and finally mosied back to the computer and started typing."
Today was a crazy day. Yesterday, I overslept until 10:30, missing all of Orchestra and part of Japanese. I'm still feeling a little off. Today, I woke up (relatively) bright and early, took out the curlers that I had put in my hair the previous night for no real reason other that boredom, went to school, and was pretty much bored all day. After school, the sun was shining, I'd managed to slip out of class a minute or so early to beat the rush out of the student parking lot so I wouldn't be late to teach my little ballet girls, and all was right in the world. Plus my hair was curly, which is always a plus.
On my way out of the parking lot, I passed some weird kids with the windows rolled down and some hip hop music blaring. The lightbulb went on above my curly head. Down went my windows. Up went my volume. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was cruising down River Road, Vivaldi blaring at an inexcusable volume. In a minivan. I did turn it down before I got to the studio, just in case one of my little girls' parents started to question my fitness for the job.
We tried on costumes today. All twelve of them looked fantastic in their little orange leotards. Unfortunately, many of the yellow and orange feathers molted off of their costumes and lay on the studio floor as if Big Bird had got in a fight with...um... something orange...and feathery.
Nonetheless and never the more, they looked adorable.
After class, I went home and played this silly game called Outpost Kaloki X on the Xbox that I have become shamefully addicted to. It's basically like Sim Space Station. Except funny. I had rescued the princess and was trying to build a wildlife reserve, but by the time I had enough money, all my power sources were exploding. I hate it when that happens.
I was about five minutes late for dance, but that was okay since class started about five minutes late. All through barre I was feeling about as shiny as a happy hippy, but without the drugs. Center went by without any serious problems. We put our pointe shoes on and went to run our Swan Lake stuff for the recital. By the way, it's really, pickin' hard. Roughly five exhausting minutes later, we finished, bowed and walked serenely off stage (left, right, left, step small so I don't run Kyla over, right, left), then collapsed, gasping, all over the floor and crawled painfully over to our water bottles. Mrs. Jennifer then said the thrice-accursed words: "Okay, let's do it again." I stood painfully, leaving a small, muddy puddle of sweat on the marley.
The second time through was torture. Before we had even made it to the cabrioles, I was literally wheezing. The air was thick with pretty much everything but oxygen. My throat wouldn't relax enough to let what little air there was into my lungs. By the time we got to the baby swan variation, I was in tears. It was no good.
So here I am. Feeling crusty and sore. Tomorrow are the auditions for the junior company (Hosanna Prepatory Ensemble, or HoPE), and I'm on the spot, teaching choreography I'm working on to "I Saw the Light" by the David Crowder Band. It's pretty cool that, even though I'm old and leaving, there'll be a piece in the repetoire with my name on it for quite a long time to come. I've got roughly 45 seconds of the 3:10 minute piece done. Tonight, I need to read two poems for AP Lit and a half-chapter of Lord of the Flies for my English for the Apathetic/Ignorant.
O, pray for me. I am so very weary.
Today was a crazy day. Yesterday, I overslept until 10:30, missing all of Orchestra and part of Japanese. I'm still feeling a little off. Today, I woke up (relatively) bright and early, took out the curlers that I had put in my hair the previous night for no real reason other that boredom, went to school, and was pretty much bored all day. After school, the sun was shining, I'd managed to slip out of class a minute or so early to beat the rush out of the student parking lot so I wouldn't be late to teach my little ballet girls, and all was right in the world. Plus my hair was curly, which is always a plus.
On my way out of the parking lot, I passed some weird kids with the windows rolled down and some hip hop music blaring. The lightbulb went on above my curly head. Down went my windows. Up went my volume. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was cruising down River Road, Vivaldi blaring at an inexcusable volume. In a minivan. I did turn it down before I got to the studio, just in case one of my little girls' parents started to question my fitness for the job.
We tried on costumes today. All twelve of them looked fantastic in their little orange leotards. Unfortunately, many of the yellow and orange feathers molted off of their costumes and lay on the studio floor as if Big Bird had got in a fight with...um... something orange...and feathery.
Nonetheless and never the more, they looked adorable.
After class, I went home and played this silly game called Outpost Kaloki X on the Xbox that I have become shamefully addicted to. It's basically like Sim Space Station. Except funny. I had rescued the princess and was trying to build a wildlife reserve, but by the time I had enough money, all my power sources were exploding. I hate it when that happens.
I was about five minutes late for dance, but that was okay since class started about five minutes late. All through barre I was feeling about as shiny as a happy hippy, but without the drugs. Center went by without any serious problems. We put our pointe shoes on and went to run our Swan Lake stuff for the recital. By the way, it's really, pickin' hard. Roughly five exhausting minutes later, we finished, bowed and walked serenely off stage (left, right, left, step small so I don't run Kyla over, right, left), then collapsed, gasping, all over the floor and crawled painfully over to our water bottles. Mrs. Jennifer then said the thrice-accursed words: "Okay, let's do it again." I stood painfully, leaving a small, muddy puddle of sweat on the marley.
The second time through was torture. Before we had even made it to the cabrioles, I was literally wheezing. The air was thick with pretty much everything but oxygen. My throat wouldn't relax enough to let what little air there was into my lungs. By the time we got to the baby swan variation, I was in tears. It was no good.
So here I am. Feeling crusty and sore. Tomorrow are the auditions for the junior company (Hosanna Prepatory Ensemble, or HoPE), and I'm on the spot, teaching choreography I'm working on to "I Saw the Light" by the David Crowder Band. It's pretty cool that, even though I'm old and leaving, there'll be a piece in the repetoire with my name on it for quite a long time to come. I've got roughly 45 seconds of the 3:10 minute piece done. Tonight, I need to read two poems for AP Lit and a half-chapter of Lord of the Flies for my English for the Apathetic/Ignorant.
O, pray for me. I am so very weary.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
My life on the Internet
So, if I post twice in one week, am I covered for the next two weeks?
Anyway, I just thought I'd tell you that, while looking through my list of sites that I check periodically (i.e. daily), I found myself going to my own blog to see if it had been updated. Sad. This marks a new chapter in my absentmindedness. By the way, my blog hadn't been updated, and, frustrated by the lack of updates I had found on the sites I frequent, I decided to do something about it in a sudden, unwonted burst of activism. I do live in Eugene, after all, which is right on the corner of Activism Street and Protest Lane.
"Just what are these sites that you frequent?" I hear you ask. Well, since I don't have much else I should be doing at the moment, and because this post is far too short to warrant your attention, I present to you: THE LIST!
Anyway, I just thought I'd tell you that, while looking through my list of sites that I check periodically (i.e. daily), I found myself going to my own blog to see if it had been updated. Sad. This marks a new chapter in my absentmindedness. By the way, my blog hadn't been updated, and, frustrated by the lack of updates I had found on the sites I frequent, I decided to do something about it in a sudden, unwonted burst of activism. I do live in Eugene, after all, which is right on the corner of Activism Street and Protest Lane.
"Just what are these sites that you frequent?" I hear you ask. Well, since I don't have much else I should be doing at the moment, and because this post is far too short to warrant your attention, I present to you: THE LIST!
- World of Monkey Island
- Homestar Runner
- Facebook
- Ask a Ninja
- Grumpy Gamer
- My own blog, to see if anyone commented on the latest lame thing I had to contribute to cyberculture.
- The "add a post" page for my blog, which I stare at for a while and then decide that I have nothing to say.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
The Adventures of Little Baubitt
Christmas 1995ish- Little Baubitt is hard at work sticking peppermints on a gingerbread house (actually made of graham crackers). Dad comes up behind her with a video camera. Ever eager to be immortalized in film, I look up sweetly and say, "Can you say I'm very creative?" (Actually, it was more like "cerative", but I thought you might not know what I was saying.) Dad, stifling a laugh, obligingly says, "You're very creative." Little Baubitt, satisfied, gives a little half knod and returns to decorating her house. Sometime when you're at my house ask Tanner to show you the video.
The reason I bring this anecdote up is that, apparently, even at the tender age of five, I liked people to give me words of affirmation. Nice words. It's probably the primary way that I receive love from others. Hugs, I could take or leave. Sorry, Tanner. I can appreciate it when people do practical things for me, but it doesn't mean much to me. Presents are nice, though. Quality time drives me nuts since I always think I ought to be doing something else. So say nice things to me. The end.
The reason I bring this anecdote up is that, apparently, even at the tender age of five, I liked people to give me words of affirmation. Nice words. It's probably the primary way that I receive love from others. Hugs, I could take or leave. Sorry, Tanner. I can appreciate it when people do practical things for me, but it doesn't mean much to me. Presents are nice, though. Quality time drives me nuts since I always think I ought to be doing something else. So say nice things to me. The end.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Life Lessons
Just to remind myself that school isn't totally pointless, here is a list of some things I've learned this year:
- Pi day (3/14) is only commemorated by people writing "Pi day!" on the whiteboard in the school.
- Homework for fourth period can almost always be done during lunch.
- Getting hit by a car is an excellent way to get out of things
- Whatever you might think a poem is about... you're completely wrong.
- The librarian refills the candy dish at the start of lunch.
- Assemblies are never mandatory.
- The secret to writing a good essay is coming up with one good point and restating it as many ways as you can.
- Even if you did the assigned reading, looking over the sparknotes can still save your bacon.
- $5.00 is two weeks of lunch money.
- Never, ever try to invade Russia in the winter.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Good news is good news!
Happy day! Here's why:
You're coming up to the top of a hill and you can't see what's on the other side. Do you:
a) Slow down
b) Speed up to get there faster
c) Honk your horn and turn on your fog lights
I almost laughed out loud in the middle of the DMV. A small mountain of paperwork and a camera flash later, I was a licensed driver. Afterward, Mom wanted to see the route we took on the test, so I tried to reconstruct it. Ironically, I almost got in about three wrecks. Since then, I've been driving myself and others to school and dance while mom does DDR.
- My knee is hardly even purple anymore
- I got my license last Friday
You're coming up to the top of a hill and you can't see what's on the other side. Do you:
a) Slow down
b) Speed up to get there faster
c) Honk your horn and turn on your fog lights
I almost laughed out loud in the middle of the DMV. A small mountain of paperwork and a camera flash later, I was a licensed driver. Afterward, Mom wanted to see the route we took on the test, so I tried to reconstruct it. Ironically, I almost got in about three wrecks. Since then, I've been driving myself and others to school and dance while mom does DDR.
- I got accepted to Whitworth! With honors!
Thursday, March 01, 2007
My latest adventure in stupidity and DDR
Last week on stupid things I did I poured boiling water on my foot. In today's episode, I get hit by a car.
So yesterday, as I was riding my bike home after going home for lunch and my free period, I was kind of zoning out, and of nowhere there's a car right in front of me pulling out of a driveway. I don't remember if it was moving, and I can't stop at this point, and there was a split second in midair where I thought "Oh my gosh. I just got hit by a car," followed shortly by "Hmm... I seem to be screaming." I hit the ground on my hands and knees (yes, I was wearing a helmet). I picked myself up carefully, shaking like it was Friday night. The driver got out of his car and helped me put the chain back on my bike, and I proceeded to school, choking on sobs. After all, I had an in-class essay in History. I'd like to add at this point that while there was a car involved, I could just as easily hit any stationary object with similar effects. I locked up my bike, went inside, took off my coat and went to the bathroom to try and get some of the mud off my knees, the adrenaline still moshing in my system. Back in class, I started to calm down enough to feel my knee ache a bit. Rolling up my pants I saw a bit of a scrape, so I went to the teacher and asked to go the nurse's office because I was "kind of hit by a car". That's when people started freaking out. He sent me to the nurse's office, all right, with an escort in case I passed out or something. Twenty minutes later, I was back at home with a leaky baggie of ice on my knee playing Psychonauts. As I calmed down, the pain got worse, and, on the school nurse's recomendation, Mom took me to the doctor to get it checked out. Since I had was having a hard time walking, I got a to ride in a wheelchair while I sat around the waiting room. Fortunately, it's just "soft tissue trauma", which is a pity-eliciting way of saying "the queen mother of all bruises".
In less traumatic news, my mom just went out and bought DDR for our 360. While I was trying to illustrate the concept of an upbeat, I had a brilliant idea, in kind of a super dorky musician kind of way- Conduct Conduct Revolution for the Wii! I crack myself up.
So yesterday, as I was riding my bike home after going home for lunch and my free period, I was kind of zoning out, and of nowhere there's a car right in front of me pulling out of a driveway. I don't remember if it was moving, and I can't stop at this point, and there was a split second in midair where I thought "Oh my gosh. I just got hit by a car," followed shortly by "Hmm... I seem to be screaming." I hit the ground on my hands and knees (yes, I was wearing a helmet). I picked myself up carefully, shaking like it was Friday night. The driver got out of his car and helped me put the chain back on my bike, and I proceeded to school, choking on sobs. After all, I had an in-class essay in History. I'd like to add at this point that while there was a car involved, I could just as easily hit any stationary object with similar effects. I locked up my bike, went inside, took off my coat and went to the bathroom to try and get some of the mud off my knees, the adrenaline still moshing in my system. Back in class, I started to calm down enough to feel my knee ache a bit. Rolling up my pants I saw a bit of a scrape, so I went to the teacher and asked to go the nurse's office because I was "kind of hit by a car". That's when people started freaking out. He sent me to the nurse's office, all right, with an escort in case I passed out or something. Twenty minutes later, I was back at home with a leaky baggie of ice on my knee playing Psychonauts. As I calmed down, the pain got worse, and, on the school nurse's recomendation, Mom took me to the doctor to get it checked out. Since I had was having a hard time walking, I got a to ride in a wheelchair while I sat around the waiting room. Fortunately, it's just "soft tissue trauma", which is a pity-eliciting way of saying "the queen mother of all bruises".
In less traumatic news, my mom just went out and bought DDR for our 360. While I was trying to illustrate the concept of an upbeat, I had a brilliant idea, in kind of a super dorky musician kind of way- Conduct Conduct Revolution for the Wii! I crack myself up.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
The Two Stupidest Things I've Done Recently
- So I have this habit of sitting on my vanity counter and soaking my feet in the sink. The hot water feels really nice, and I will often sit there for hours reading a book and perpetually draining and refilling the sink as the water cools. So the other day, while I was thus engaged, it occurred to me that the water might be just a little bit hotter. Now, if this were a movie, you would cut to a shot of the new electric kettle sitting right next to me. So, yes. I poured boiling water, 100 degrees C, directly on my foot, leaving an angry red burn. Not my most intelligent moment.
- I was making my bed with fresh sheets for the first time in two or three months when it occurred to me that I hadn't posted to this blog for a while. So naturally, I decided to regale you all with tales of my own idiocy.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
No news is good news...
I have nothing to say. Life has continued much as it has this past age.
I have taken to staying up until about 11:30 before deciding to begin my homework, foolishly enough, and am now earnestly practicing my handstands.
Apparently, one of the semi-symptoms of Aspburger's Syndrome (which I may or may not have some mild form of) is enjoying unusual relationships to gravity (which I do), along with hypermobility (which I definently have some of) and difficulty interacting in social situations (...yeah...).
My mom's side of the family gathered at our house last weekend to exchange Christmas presents. The electric kettle I received is a big hit at the parties I have been having alone in my room between the hours of "bedtime" and two. I absconded with a mug from downstairs and have been slowly eroding away at the seemingly bottomless supply of teabags that I habitually (e.g. compulsively) collect from hotel continental breakfasts and the like.
My right shoulder is an inch higher than my left until I can fit in a chiropractor appointment, which makes my left arm longer, which in turn throws me off balance.
I don't think I ever mentioned that I was playing the 'cello in a children's production of Cinderella. It's over now, anyway.
I have also decided that I will further the cause of the 'cello's coolty by putting an apostrophe before it in good old timey style as a reminder that it's short for violoncello.
I went on a laundry-folding rampage earlier, which sucked my evening dry and left the living room full of stacks of clean, folded clothes.
My spine feels out of alignment.
I came across this group's videos on youtube and have watched them between 10 and 12 times since. I bit my fingernails down to nubs the other day and started in on the skin around them, so now my fingers hurt and snag on things.
I took a bath last night and listened to my computer read the assigned reading for British Literature in its mechanical voice, which, for some reason, seems to be incapable of pronouncing the word "passed" normally.
The problem with baths it that the water grows temperate so swiftly. Were it not so, I would never come out.
The second piercings I put (or rather, had put) in my ears for my 17th birthday are technically past the 6 weeks required before I can change the studs out for something more interesting, but they kind of swell and pus and feel warm to the touch. Just a little. Not enough to prevent me from messing with them. Plus, the hole my left earlobe seems rather at an odd angle, making it nearly impossible to reinsert an earring--at least without it taking the better part of an hour.
I had a dentist appointment today, which means
Midnight. I guess I'd better start in on my homework.
I have taken to staying up until about 11:30 before deciding to begin my homework, foolishly enough, and am now earnestly practicing my handstands.
Apparently, one of the semi-symptoms of Aspburger's Syndrome (which I may or may not have some mild form of) is enjoying unusual relationships to gravity (which I do), along with hypermobility (which I definently have some of) and difficulty interacting in social situations (...yeah...).
My mom's side of the family gathered at our house last weekend to exchange Christmas presents. The electric kettle I received is a big hit at the parties I have been having alone in my room between the hours of "bedtime" and two. I absconded with a mug from downstairs and have been slowly eroding away at the seemingly bottomless supply of teabags that I habitually (e.g. compulsively) collect from hotel continental breakfasts and the like.
My right shoulder is an inch higher than my left until I can fit in a chiropractor appointment, which makes my left arm longer, which in turn throws me off balance.
I don't think I ever mentioned that I was playing the 'cello in a children's production of Cinderella. It's over now, anyway.
I have also decided that I will further the cause of the 'cello's coolty by putting an apostrophe before it in good old timey style as a reminder that it's short for violoncello.
I went on a laundry-folding rampage earlier, which sucked my evening dry and left the living room full of stacks of clean, folded clothes.
My spine feels out of alignment.
I came across this group's videos on youtube and have watched them between 10 and 12 times since. I bit my fingernails down to nubs the other day and started in on the skin around them, so now my fingers hurt and snag on things.
I took a bath last night and listened to my computer read the assigned reading for British Literature in its mechanical voice, which, for some reason, seems to be incapable of pronouncing the word "passed" normally.
The problem with baths it that the water grows temperate so swiftly. Were it not so, I would never come out.
The second piercings I put (or rather, had put) in my ears for my 17th birthday are technically past the 6 weeks required before I can change the studs out for something more interesting, but they kind of swell and pus and feel warm to the touch. Just a little. Not enough to prevent me from messing with them. Plus, the hole my left earlobe seems rather at an odd angle, making it nearly impossible to reinsert an earring--at least without it taking the better part of an hour.
I had a dentist appointment today, which means
- I got a new toothbrush. Purple.
- I got to play Mario on their Nintendo 64. That game, while literally as old as I am, is very special to me, evoking all kinds of fond memories of toothbrushes from years past.
Midnight. I guess I'd better start in on my homework.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Will you be my Valentine?
Here it is; the long awaited Valentine's day rant. First off, were it not for the candy and greeting card industries, there would be no holiday, especially for those of us who are... romantically uninvolved. Forever. Before this spirals further into self-pity and self-depreciation, I will change the topic. At my school, there is a pageant for senior boys known as the Mr. North pageant wherein the contestants have to raise as much money as possible for charity. Fine and good. However, on Valentine's day, you can pay money to have a "Val-o-gram" delivered by one of these strapping young lads dressed in a tux for the occasion. For an extra dollar or so, you can have the messenger sing the contents of said Val-o-gram. Now, allow me to ask, who would enjoy receiving such a val-o-gram? That's right, enamored high school girls. Is it likely that these girls' boyfriends would be terribly excited to shell out $3-$7 for another boy to sing a sappy valentine to his girl? I would guess not. So, logically, the majority of the valentines delivered will be from these girls' fellow girl friends. Friendship, however, is not the point of Valentine's day, romantic love is. Therefore, the entire concept underlying the Mr. North Val-o-grams is fallacious, and the whole venture ought to be abandoned. Plus, the word Val-o-gram is just dumb. A valentine is already a message, and adding -gram onto it is just redundant. On the other hand, maybe I'm just bitter. Yes. That's probably it. Sorry.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Scenes from my life.
I sat down at my lappy, intending to rant on my blog about Valentines' day and eventually spiral into complaining that for some unfathomable reason NO BOYS LIKE ME, but, upon further reflection I decided to save that can o' worms for closer to the actual day in question. So. Here I am, looking for something to rant about. I'm coming up empty.
Well, I suppose I'll give in to my all-pervading narcissism and talk about the mundane events of my life. I'm finished with that lame health class, thank God (and I mean that literally), and have replaced it with Japanese 5. It's amazing how much one can forget in seven or eight months. Not speaking as much as writing. Kanji, in particular. For those who don't know, the Japanese, in keeping with their history of utter craziness, decided to write some words in- why not?- Chinese. So, in order to pass as even mildly proficient, you have to memorize thousands and thousands of characters. At last count, I knew around 100, making me almost as literate as a Japanese first grader. Whoopee. On an increasingly depressing note, I am also taking British Lit. Sounds like an interesting class, with texts I probably would have read on my own anyway, but the catch is that it is the class for Seniors who didn't want to take AP. So, yes. I am in the loser, non-academic Senior English class in addition to the mind-meltingly difficult AP College Lit. Just another perk of getting four years of work done in three. To give you some idea of my plight, I give you a scene from AUBRIANNE: the Musical.
TEACHER: Class, this book is very difficult, but you're all Seniors, so you should be able to handle it. What are some of the things we look for when we read a very difficult, grown-up book like this one?
(A pause. KID IN BACK ROW flicks rubber band as SHALLOW, HOT GIRL, who squeals girlishly. AUBRIANNE, with her head on the desk, raises her hand)
TEACHER: Yes?
AUBRIANNE: (head still on desk) Motifs. Themes. Symbols. Voice. Diction.
TEACHER: (writing these on the board) Very good. Who can tell me what a symbol is?
(A longer pause. SHALLOW, HOT GIRL pulls out her phone under the desk. AUBRIANNE sighs and raises her hand)
AUBRIANNE: (in a monotone, quoting her other English teacher) A concrete representation of an abstract idea.
TEACHER: Excellent. I'm going to put "something that stands for something else" instead, though.
(Lights dim. AUBRIANNE moves downstage and dies of boredom in a spotlight.)
So, yes. That's about how I feel. The sad part is how little embellishment that took. Hopefully, you will accept this as a legitimate excuse for why I have had no deep thoughts for you, my readers. Maybe by summer, I will have managed to thaw my brain out enough to articulate some pearls of wisdom for all y'alls. At the moment, the best I can come up with are things like "Why is it that almost anything you put on toast is good?"
In other news, I finished Psychonauts. Excellent game. Now I'm working on getting all the items you can collect to get a rank of 100. Currently, I'm at 96. Yes, I live a sad and pathetic existence. Also, I finally got around to starting that book Wild at Heart. I had a few double takes, since some of the stuff I've said looks like I ripped it off from that book. Weird.
Edit: Another thing gave me the same double-take kind of feeling can be found here. Ah, cello humor. Good times.
Well, I suppose I'll give in to my all-pervading narcissism and talk about the mundane events of my life. I'm finished with that lame health class, thank God (and I mean that literally), and have replaced it with Japanese 5. It's amazing how much one can forget in seven or eight months. Not speaking as much as writing. Kanji, in particular. For those who don't know, the Japanese, in keeping with their history of utter craziness, decided to write some words in- why not?- Chinese. So, in order to pass as even mildly proficient, you have to memorize thousands and thousands of characters. At last count, I knew around 100, making me almost as literate as a Japanese first grader. Whoopee. On an increasingly depressing note, I am also taking British Lit. Sounds like an interesting class, with texts I probably would have read on my own anyway, but the catch is that it is the class for Seniors who didn't want to take AP. So, yes. I am in the loser, non-academic Senior English class in addition to the mind-meltingly difficult AP College Lit. Just another perk of getting four years of work done in three. To give you some idea of my plight, I give you a scene from AUBRIANNE: the Musical.
TEACHER: Class, this book is very difficult, but you're all Seniors, so you should be able to handle it. What are some of the things we look for when we read a very difficult, grown-up book like this one?
(A pause. KID IN BACK ROW flicks rubber band as SHALLOW, HOT GIRL, who squeals girlishly. AUBRIANNE, with her head on the desk, raises her hand)
TEACHER: Yes?
AUBRIANNE: (head still on desk) Motifs. Themes. Symbols. Voice. Diction.
TEACHER: (writing these on the board) Very good. Who can tell me what a symbol is?
(A longer pause. SHALLOW, HOT GIRL pulls out her phone under the desk. AUBRIANNE sighs and raises her hand)
AUBRIANNE: (in a monotone, quoting her other English teacher) A concrete representation of an abstract idea.
TEACHER: Excellent. I'm going to put "something that stands for something else" instead, though.
(Lights dim. AUBRIANNE moves downstage and dies of boredom in a spotlight.)
So, yes. That's about how I feel. The sad part is how little embellishment that took. Hopefully, you will accept this as a legitimate excuse for why I have had no deep thoughts for you, my readers. Maybe by summer, I will have managed to thaw my brain out enough to articulate some pearls of wisdom for all y'alls. At the moment, the best I can come up with are things like "Why is it that almost anything you put on toast is good?"
In other news, I finished Psychonauts. Excellent game. Now I'm working on getting all the items you can collect to get a rank of 100. Currently, I'm at 96. Yes, I live a sad and pathetic existence. Also, I finally got around to starting that book Wild at Heart. I had a few double takes, since some of the stuff I've said looks like I ripped it off from that book. Weird.
Edit: Another thing gave me the same double-take kind of feeling can be found here. Ah, cello humor. Good times.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
10 things that I find highly overrated
A quick post before bed.
Without further ado, in no particular order:
In other news, I realized that the thing I'll miss most while in Slovakia is probably Japanese rice. How weird is that? I won't have chopsticks or miso soup either. How will I live?!?
Without further ado, in no particular order:
- High School (let me out!)
- Shoes (feel the floor!)
- Napkins (If you don't make a mess, you don't need a napkin.)
- MySpace (I don't need a website to know that I have no friends)
- Having a social life (who has time?)
- Silverware (chopsticks forever!)
- Sanity (nobody really has it anyway)
- Multiplication tables (repeated addition. that's all it is.)
- Nail polish (it'll just peel off and look worse in a week)
- Orlando Bloom (he's so ugly! POTC 2 should never have been made)
- Accurate counting skills (Hint: this is thing #11.)
In other news, I realized that the thing I'll miss most while in Slovakia is probably Japanese rice. How weird is that? I won't have chopsticks or miso soup either. How will I live?!?
Friday, January 26, 2007
Sinners!
You will all be relieved to know in advance that I am NOT going to make this a random rant about ostriches, peanut butter, toast, and/or spoons, and that I actually intend to delve into some deep water today.
Theoretically, I am first and foremost a child of God.
However, the title of "Christian" has many, many unpleasant stigmas attached to it, including, but not limited to, the Crusades, televangelists, witch burnings, abortion clinic bombings, "Christianizing"/killing off millions of Native Americans... the list goes on interminably. It may be fair to say that the number of wrong, messed up things done in God's name is almost equal to the number of good things done in His name. Also, the number of positive things done by non-Christians is probably equal to those by Christians.
We've given ourselves a bad reputation, and, worse, we've turned God into a figurehead for a political agenda.
Christians forget that even homosexuals, women who have abortions, and liberals are every bit as loved by God as "we" are. Sure, they're sinners, but no more so than you or I. I'm not going to condemn them for their actions unless I've got my act together, which is not going to happen. (I believe that humankind is sinful by nature and that we are all doomed to hell unless we throw ourselves on God's mercy, but that's a topic for another post. Most of my Christian readers will agree with me without thinking, but others (this means you, Adam) will question that statement's veracity.) Besides, how exactly is "you're going to hell unless you do what I say" the kind of thing you want to say to someone who needs God? He wants to woo us into a willing relationship with him. Are you helping or hindering the process? Is God working through you or in spite of you?
Theoretically, I am first and foremost a child of God.
However, the title of "Christian" has many, many unpleasant stigmas attached to it, including, but not limited to, the Crusades, televangelists, witch burnings, abortion clinic bombings, "Christianizing"/killing off millions of Native Americans... the list goes on interminably. It may be fair to say that the number of wrong, messed up things done in God's name is almost equal to the number of good things done in His name. Also, the number of positive things done by non-Christians is probably equal to those by Christians.
We've given ourselves a bad reputation, and, worse, we've turned God into a figurehead for a political agenda.
Christians forget that even homosexuals, women who have abortions, and liberals are every bit as loved by God as "we" are. Sure, they're sinners, but no more so than you or I. I'm not going to condemn them for their actions unless I've got my act together, which is not going to happen. (I believe that humankind is sinful by nature and that we are all doomed to hell unless we throw ourselves on God's mercy, but that's a topic for another post. Most of my Christian readers will agree with me without thinking, but others (this means you, Adam) will question that statement's veracity.) Besides, how exactly is "you're going to hell unless you do what I say" the kind of thing you want to say to someone who needs God? He wants to woo us into a willing relationship with him. Are you helping or hindering the process? Is God working through you or in spite of you?
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Eating trail mix
First, the peanuts. The bane of the trail mix.
Next, raisins and other assorted nuts, except the cashews.
Cashews last. Bite them in half, find the tastiest one, and eat it last.
Nothing left but a handful of M&Ms.
Sort the colors. So.
Only one green. I eat it first.
Two browns.
Hmm. A dilemma. Three each of orange and red. I eat them in alphabetical order.
Nine yellows.
Thirteen blues.
The way people look at me, you'd think they'd never seen trail mix before. In my own defense, the only thing I am not willing to compromise on is that the M&Ms must be last. Who wants to finish a handful of trail mix with peanut-taste in their mouth?
Augh. I wish I had a life I could write about. Not badly enough to do anything about it, mark you...
Next, raisins and other assorted nuts, except the cashews.
Cashews last. Bite them in half, find the tastiest one, and eat it last.
Nothing left but a handful of M&Ms.
Sort the colors. So.
Only one green. I eat it first.
Two browns.
Hmm. A dilemma. Three each of orange and red. I eat them in alphabetical order.
Nine yellows.
Thirteen blues.
The way people look at me, you'd think they'd never seen trail mix before. In my own defense, the only thing I am not willing to compromise on is that the M&Ms must be last. Who wants to finish a handful of trail mix with peanut-taste in their mouth?
Augh. I wish I had a life I could write about. Not badly enough to do anything about it, mark you...
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Superiority
Today I was unusually smart-mouthed in orchestra. When Bill (the teacher) said that Mozart was rolling in his grave, I said that maybe that way someone would be able to find it. Since nobody knows quite where he's buried. It made me laugh, but nobody else got it. Then, when we were playing the middle school-worthy edited version of some Les Miserables songs, Bill mentioned that the play took place during the French Revolution. Needless to say, I had to interject that it was, in fact, the second French Revolution, which pretty much got squished. After the first revolution, after all the chaos got to be too much, they put the freaking bourgeoisie back in power. What did they expect? Ah, those silly French are always revolting.
Anyway, the point is that all these comments of mine made me feel superior to everyone in the room, which is one of my favorite feelings. Right up there with eating exorbitant amounts of chocolate. Unfortunately, both are very unhealthy. I think that, secretly, I am afraid. I am afraid of being inferior, so I compensate by making sure everyone else thinks I'm better than they are. Smarter. Happier. More busy. While this superficial superiority makes me happy, it doesn't make me humble. I suffer from pride because, deep down, I know there's not much to be proud of. I make mistakes. I lie. I antagonize people. I'm a snob. I'm only mediocre at the things I do, but I pass it off as exceptional through sheer force of attitude. That may be the subconscious reason I didn't do Youth Symphony this year. In just plain old Orchestra, I can appear to be the best because I pretty much am.
I blew off the girl who wants to be my friend at lunch to study for my history test, and here I am, not studying. Go figure. I'd better figure out what happened between the civil war and the turn of the century.
Anyway, the point is that all these comments of mine made me feel superior to everyone in the room, which is one of my favorite feelings. Right up there with eating exorbitant amounts of chocolate. Unfortunately, both are very unhealthy. I think that, secretly, I am afraid. I am afraid of being inferior, so I compensate by making sure everyone else thinks I'm better than they are. Smarter. Happier. More busy. While this superficial superiority makes me happy, it doesn't make me humble. I suffer from pride because, deep down, I know there's not much to be proud of. I make mistakes. I lie. I antagonize people. I'm a snob. I'm only mediocre at the things I do, but I pass it off as exceptional through sheer force of attitude. That may be the subconscious reason I didn't do Youth Symphony this year. In just plain old Orchestra, I can appear to be the best because I pretty much am.
I blew off the girl who wants to be my friend at lunch to study for my history test, and here I am, not studying. Go figure. I'd better figure out what happened between the civil war and the turn of the century.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
10 things that, when dropped innocuously into a conversation, sometimes make me laugh for no reason
- Spoons
- Coconuts
- Toast
- Bananas
- Marmalade
- Pineapples
- Toenails
- Elephants
- Pickles
- Deranged Ostriches
I'm not sure what it means that 6/10 of these items can be found in the kitchen. The kitchen is not a particularly funny room to be in. Oh well. Just a post to let all my loyal fans know I'm still alive. Oh, and I'm going to Slovakia. Don't know where in Slovakia, but will eventually. I find myself unable to come up with anything deep to say today, so I gave you Deranged Ostriches and Marmalade instead. College applications have stolen my mind out from under me.
Monday, January 01, 2007
At the end of the day you're another day older...
Seventeen years ago today I began my sojourn on this plane of existence. Today I am seventeen years closer to moving on to heaven than I was then. On a less cosmic scale, it's my birthday and I feel like a grown-up. It's strange. I told a five-year-old friend of mine that I felt like a grown-up, and she asked me how many more years I had until I was a grown-up, and the best answer I had was "Well, it depends on the person." So is this it? Am I done being a kid? When I was little, my parents taught me the difference between "growing up on the inside" and "growing up on the outside". (Pretty hilarious side bar: Growing up with a mom who was a teacher and a dad who wants to be a professor when he grows up has some unavoidable side effects. The other day, we went to see the Pirates of Penzance, which is fan-flippin'-tastic, and as we were walking around the parking garage looking for our car, Mom said, and I quote, "So, based solely on the content of the opera, what societal changes were Gilbert and Sullivan commenting on?" In case you want to know, the answer is that they were satirizing devotion to duty taking precedent to common sense. This kind of thing happens all the time. And people wonder why I'm so tweaked out. Thus ends my very long, parenthetical anecdote. We return now to our previously scheduled nonsense. You may want to go back and read what I was talking about before I opened this can of Pandora's boxes. Go on. I'll wait.) I feel grown up, both on the outside and the inside. On the inside, I feel like I should be doing more grown up things. I should be able to drive myself places. I should be able to wake myself up in the morning consistently. I should be able to cook for myself (after all, why learn to cook if you can just make Tanner do it for you?). I've got enough maturity to take care of myself, but I'm not competent enough. So it's a bittersweet birthday. I never really felt like a high school student, even though I go to high school. I just found out the other day that I missed all this year's football games, so now I never will have gone to a high school game. Would that I hadn't. (Subjunctive tense!) Oh well. Maybe I'll make it to a baseball game... maybe. I'd rather just be done with high school as soon as possible. Only 105 days of compulsory schooling left!
Thursday, December 28, 2006
A pointless ramble.
Alright, so it's winter break. Whoop-dee-doo. I still have to do a boatload of schoolwork and just plain old work-work. Oh well. At least I get to stay home in my jim-jams all day. I've been watching a lot of BBC shows lately, so pajamas are now jim-jams. According to motto #1, (The secret to creativity is hiding your sources,) I shouldn't have told all y'alls where I got the word jim-jams and just used it like I made it up myself. Unfortunately, then I'd lose my link to what I actually wanted to talk about.
Anyway, between items on my 6.2 mile long to-do list, I've been watching this very British TV show called Doctor Who. (I might as well admit, I think the new Doctor is pretty darn handsome. You can all thank my mom for pointing out that all the guys I think are handsome have kind of big noses.) Wow, I'm getting distracted really easily tonight. Alright, back on topic. There was an episode or two with these Cybermen, they're called, and they gave me the creeps. They are robots with people's brains inside, except with the emotions removed. As I was lying awake last night, unable to sleep because of the creepy monsters I stupidly put in my head right before bed, it occurred to me to wonder why the Cybermen were so much creepier than other villain-type robots and aliens in the show. The answer I came up with is that it could be any of us that got our brains cut out and stuck in a metal body. (stick with me, there was a point I set out to make...) Then I wondered, "Why am I afraid of losing this body? It's not like I get to keep it forever. It's not that I even like living in it all the time." It did kind of help to think of it in those terms. I'm so glad to know that there's a better body than this one waiting when I wear this one out. I have nothing to fear from death, or robots, or demons, or aliens, or autopsies on CSI, or computer generated blood that squirts out when you fall down in that skateboarding game we have on the xbox, or anything else Satan can hurl out at me. For some reason, though, I still get freaked out. Wow. I never knew there were so many things I was afraid of. That's odd. I thought I was fearless. Hmm. Not the first time I've been wrong.
Well, as it turns out, I didn't make much of a point after all. It's just one of those thoughts that kind of rambles. The phrase "Train of thought" doesn't do the process justice. Like a plant, it seems simple enough until you try to extract it and find innumerable roots shooting off in all directions. Ah well. I should go to bed. I should have gone to bed two to three hours ago.
I am now 16.98905 years old. Freaky.
Anyway, between items on my 6.2 mile long to-do list, I've been watching this very British TV show called Doctor Who. (I might as well admit, I think the new Doctor is pretty darn handsome. You can all thank my mom for pointing out that all the guys I think are handsome have kind of big noses.) Wow, I'm getting distracted really easily tonight. Alright, back on topic. There was an episode or two with these Cybermen, they're called, and they gave me the creeps. They are robots with people's brains inside, except with the emotions removed. As I was lying awake last night, unable to sleep because of the creepy monsters I stupidly put in my head right before bed, it occurred to me to wonder why the Cybermen were so much creepier than other villain-type robots and aliens in the show. The answer I came up with is that it could be any of us that got our brains cut out and stuck in a metal body. (stick with me, there was a point I set out to make...) Then I wondered, "Why am I afraid of losing this body? It's not like I get to keep it forever. It's not that I even like living in it all the time." It did kind of help to think of it in those terms. I'm so glad to know that there's a better body than this one waiting when I wear this one out. I have nothing to fear from death, or robots, or demons, or aliens, or autopsies on CSI, or computer generated blood that squirts out when you fall down in that skateboarding game we have on the xbox, or anything else Satan can hurl out at me. For some reason, though, I still get freaked out. Wow. I never knew there were so many things I was afraid of. That's odd. I thought I was fearless. Hmm. Not the first time I've been wrong.
Well, as it turns out, I didn't make much of a point after all. It's just one of those thoughts that kind of rambles. The phrase "Train of thought" doesn't do the process justice. Like a plant, it seems simple enough until you try to extract it and find innumerable roots shooting off in all directions. Ah well. I should go to bed. I should have gone to bed two to three hours ago.
I am now 16.98905 years old. Freaky.
Friday, December 22, 2006
I'm back!
Hey, guys! Long time, no see. As I predicted, I'm coming out of post-Narnia depression, just in time for all the family to come over for Christmas. I got a letter back from Rotary yesterday and now my future has been decided. Well, the next year of it, anyway. It turns out that I will be going and living abroad next year! Before you ask, I don't know what country yet. Rotary doesn't let you choose, but they let you choose your top three-ish choices, but that doesn't mean you'll get to go to any of them. My top three so far: Belgium, Sweden, and Denmark. My semi-plausible plan: go abroad, come back, go to college, then come back over winter break and guest star in Narnia (maybe as the witch!).
While it's great to know what I'll be doing next year, I'm just slightly freaked out. Suddenly, I'm a grown-up, moving away and living under my own steam. Everything is so final. This is my last Christmas at home. My last birthday (17!). I've been crying a lot lately. I don't know why, but I tend to cry at the silliest things sometimes. Even when I'm not particularly sad, I just well up sometimes. Then I feel silly, since it doesn't really fit with my picture of myself. Motto #3 of mine is "'Cause I'm fearless". Fearless girls like myself shouldn't get all emotional like that. (I've been watching Firefly, so I kinda start thinkin' in Malcolm Reynolds-style half-western fancy talk.)
For your reading enjoyment, I'll list out as many of my mottoes as I can.
#1. The secret to creativity is hiding your sources.
#2. Don't force it, just get a bigger hammer.
#3. 'Cause I'm fearless.
#4. It'll grow back.
#5. Never put a sock in the toaster.
#6. "Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one." -Einsten
While it's great to know what I'll be doing next year, I'm just slightly freaked out. Suddenly, I'm a grown-up, moving away and living under my own steam. Everything is so final. This is my last Christmas at home. My last birthday (17!). I've been crying a lot lately. I don't know why, but I tend to cry at the silliest things sometimes. Even when I'm not particularly sad, I just well up sometimes. Then I feel silly, since it doesn't really fit with my picture of myself. Motto #3 of mine is "'Cause I'm fearless". Fearless girls like myself shouldn't get all emotional like that. (I've been watching Firefly, so I kinda start thinkin' in Malcolm Reynolds-style half-western fancy talk.)
For your reading enjoyment, I'll list out as many of my mottoes as I can.
#1. The secret to creativity is hiding your sources.
#2. Don't force it, just get a bigger hammer.
#3. 'Cause I'm fearless.
#4. It'll grow back.
#5. Never put a sock in the toaster.
#6. "Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one." -Einsten
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