Glo Sticks

Loss of Liberty

2005-08-31T13:13:00.000-05:00

The warm summer air is suddenly broken by the brisk breeze of autumn sending chills up and down my spine. It intrudes on the safety and comfort of the lulls of summer days spent daydreaming about the future and remembering the days of the past. A stranger from the land of the unknown and unwelcome, it hits, blowing everything she loves and adores away, pieces breaking apart as they drift farther and farther away. She wishes to fly up away with those broken pieces, away from the incoming chill; she wishes to continue living in the hums of a million crickets chirping in the summer air, daydreams floating around in the light air, just waiting to be grasped. She feels like she’s lost it all to the evils of autumn and the changing weather. All those chances to make something good out of nothing, all those opportunities lost and yet another summer withered away like the leaves on a tree. Good fortune turns suddenly to terrible, incessant torture, ceaseless in its actions, lashes of a slave master’s whip on a tired and weary servant. Where have those days of freedom gone?

Life is Fleeting

2005-08-29T23:28:00.000-05:00

Life is fleeting.

We try to fill the time with senseless deeds that lack true meaning and feeling.

It is not knowing what to do with your time. You don’t want to waste it, but you also have no idea what the hell there is to do. Everything you start seems to be a waste of time and you continue to search for that one thing that isn’t going to be a waste of your time.

You think of things that you could do and suddenly realize that everything is a waste of time. You want to be doing bigger things, more exciting things than life seems to be able to offer. You want to experience things you never thought you would.

Then there’s the question of who do experience things with. Who will accompany you on the journeys life will take you through? That is a hard question, no doubt, that people struggle with all the time. What if you pick the wrong person? Is the person “the one”? Is there such thing as “the one”? I’d like to think so, but I cannot be sure.

What do you do? Who do you go with? Do you mingle with a lot of people or keep a close circle? How do you maintain friendships with everyone? What should you focus on right now? What the hell are you doing on this earth? All questions every person asks. What is my ultimate purpose in life? What makes me feel accomplished?

Nothing. What I’m doing right now, I don’t like and don’t want to continue with it. I want to be in a world other than this. I want to do something different, escape myself and my puny little twisted world and all its problems.

Having faith in God and belief in Him and His divine rule really grounds you when all these questions pop up. Suddenly everything seems small and insignificant. You still yearn for those things that you miss, but with God, it seems like everything is so much easier, so much better, even the tough things in life. It gives a sense of inner peace that I can’t really explain.

Of course, I wonder, sometimes, if God and religion is just a bunch of crap made up to make ourselves feel better about life. Even if it were, I still feel better in spite of it. All I get is this sense of peace and that gets me through those seconds, minutes, hours, days, months and years that are inevitably to be filled with trials and temptations beyond what I feel like I can handle. Yet, with God’s promise that He will not throw anything in your way that you cannot handle, things seem a lot better from that perspective.

Though I remain half skeptical as I pop some pills and head for bed, I can’t help but know, with at least half my brain, that everything is going to be alright…eventually.

Larry

2005-08-22T01:57:00.000-05:00

Clive Owen plays Larry in the hit movie Closer. This is an analyzation of his character.

At heart, Larry is, or can be, a good guy. He's got a good heart with the people he loves. He is sweet when you don't expect it, even though he's rather perverted. He is addicted to sex, but he loves what he loves and possess them with a passion. He has emotions that are strong, and he can hide them easily with anger and his addiction to sex. Sex is his drug. He's good deep down, but he's the kind of guy you want to change but will never really be able to.
I would want a guy like that simply because he's genuine in all the ways taht I would want him to be. He's honest about being disloyal, honest about how he feels about people and things. He wants to feel more emotion than he expresses; he wants intimacy and love when he lacks it.
His flaw is that he is too overbearing and demanding. Not to mention his sex addiction is rather crazy. But if he was less demanding then he'd be much better I think.
I love that he is sweet. He buys cute little things for the woman he loves but sleeps around without heart.
Then again, he's got lovely style and hair and eyes and is very handsome, sot that's something he's got going for him.
I'd like a Larry. =)

Peter Jennings: 1938 - 2005

2005-08-10T21:30:00.000-05:00

After watching the Peter Jennings special on ABC, I suddenly realize that I’ll never hear his voice reporting ever again, and its as if I’ve lost a member of the family.

I’ll never come home to his voice belting out of our television set about some special report; I’ll never randomly turn on the TV and see him behind his desk at ABC news.

Though I’ve never met him, I feel like I knew him, or at least a side of him, that I had grown used to and taken for granted.

I grew up with his image, his voice telling me the news, usually about things I didn’t care about or really want to know about, but it was always there in the background as my dad watched the news report. And now its gone.

In remembrance of Peter Jennings, I have decided to listen to JAZZ for the next couple days because that was one of the things he loved.

Thanks, Peter, for the years you broadcasted news to my family and me, and to millions of other Americans. I’ll never forget your voice. You were my favorite news anchor.

Stop.

2005-06-01T21:33:00.000-05:00

Slowly I crunch down on that buttery-yellow piece of popped corn, clutching a pillow as the light from the screen emanates onto my face. Eyes wide and breath held, my eyes follow the moving person as they tiptoe slowly across the creaky wooden floor of a hundred year old haunted mansion. In the back of my mind, I know what is coming; in a couple seconds the ghost is going to jump suddenly onto the screen forcing a scream out of the back of my throat. I know that if I continue to watch the horror movie, I will spend several sleepless nights with all the lights on in my room, and yet I continue to sit there and subject myself to the terrors of the film, unable to tear my eyes from the screen.

The Last Stretch

2005-03-27T22:47:00.000-05:00

For all Easter is hyped up to be, it just happens (coincidentally) to be both one of my most favorite and least favorite days in the year. The day is happy and fun and all that good stuff (plus the sugar) until about six o'clock in the afternoon when you suddenly realize that in about twelve hours you're going to have to wake up at the break of dawn so that you can spend the following seven hours in one of the most dreaded places on earth: school.

It just so happens that Spring Break is the break between the first part of the school year and the last stretch before the end. You know that once you get the ball rolling the morning after Spring Break, it won't stop until the end of the year. It's a terrible feeling; frankly, its not appropriate for Easter, when we all should be celebrating the resurrection of Jesus Christ. It's terrible to have to spend your Easter night worrying endlessly about if you've done all the homework assigned for you over the break, or dreading the next morning and how incredibly tired you are going to be. I can't seem to settle down, and I hate that feeling.

Why can't they make Easter the happy weekend; the first weekend of Spring Break instead of the last? I would handle things much better; feel so much better about myself right now if that were the case. It's no fun to be confirmed and then have to think about school the next day. I just want another day to let things sink in... Just one more day before the long last stretch of the race. One more day to get my bearings. One. More. Day.

Full Circle

2005-03-15T19:23:00.000-05:00

So, I've come full circle. I can't help myself. Coming back to this feeling is easy yet painful. I feel like I've simply given in again. So, what if I have? Is that so wrong?

You've got to get away.
I get lost in the thought of losing you.
You've got to get away. I know it's a dream but it must be true.
Wave now goodbye. It's the lesson that you've been given.
You can always move on to better things

I've got a golden opportunity to try again and break the cycle of the circle. Perhaps this is the right thing to do? But if it is, why does it feel...wrong?

Bad Prompt = Bad Essay

2005-03-03T23:41:00.000-05:00

So, I'm preping for this in-class English essay that I have tomorrow. The teacher was nice enough to give us the prompts that she wants us to write about, as well as an outline where we can write topic sentences, transition sentences, etc. One might think that this task would be an easy one since all the materials are literally at my fingertips, but unfotunately for me, it is not so easy. For one reason: the prompt. Dun dun dunn...

Of course, the prompt can be interpreted in as many ways as the poetry that I am to be interpreting. I mean, honestly, how many ways can one interpret "artistic vision"? About a million. It is as if she is trying to trick us into creating a bad essay just so that she can give us a bad grade. To write an essay from a bad prompt is like trying to catch air with a net, sands of grain falling through your hands. It just doesn't work. Two formless things mushed together don't create anything that has form, obviously; it creates mush. One of the things has to have form for there to be any kind of form at all.

So, what's the lesson learned here? Bad prompt = Mushy Essay.

Foreshadow of Rejection?

2005-02-23T20:03:00.000-05:00

Today, I recieved a letter from New York University, my top choice, dream school that I will most likely not go to. I was so excited when I got it. Stupidly, I left it, unguarded and vulnerable, on the coffee table. Of course, when my father comes home, he decides to rip it up and recycle my precious letter. I return to the coffee table three hours after I abandonded and neglected it to find it missing. Franticly, I search, papers and newspapers flying everywhere, for my treasured possesion. My dad stays he probably threw it away already. Off to the recycling bin I go to find it torn into pieces; even the envelope has been torn in half. I almost cry.

Retrieving the pieces of my dream, I can't help but wonder if this is a sign. Of all the college brochures and letters that were sitting on the coffee table, my dad has to dismember the sole letter that I wanted to keep forever. A message from God? Perhaps...

Well-Rounded

2005-02-15T22:34:00.000-05:00

To start off today's entry: What movie have you seen these in? [Something similar...think about it]

Anyway...

In my slow and sad attempt to make myself a well-rounded person through reading, writing, music, and other arts, I've lost several hours in which I could have been peacefully sleeping in my queen-sized bed under my Classic Winnie the Pooh sheets. Instead of sleeping, I either read Empire Falls (a Pulitzer prize winning novel by Richard Russo) or write in my journal, which I try to do daily. I also listen to jazz or Sinatra or Louis Armstron/Ella Fitzgerald duets while I fall asleep. Today, I also fooled around on the piano a bit, trying to figure out seventh chords, and how they might help someone bang out improv jazz tunes. So far, my campaign is going rather well, I think. I also intend to, at some point, rent out all the classic movies to catch up on what I've missed when I ... wasn't born yet. I've already got a nice head start since I'm watching Dead Poet's Society in English class, and I borrowed The Godfather: Part I from a friend of mine. My goal is to become one of those movie/music/art/literature nerds who knows anything and everything about those things. I envy people like that... Well, tonight, I'd better get some sleep for once, since I have the time.

Because It's Valentine's Day...

2005-02-14T22:14:00.000-05:00

"Heart, We Will Forget Him"
by Emily Dickenson

Heart, we will forget him,
You and I, tonight!
You must forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.

When you have done pray tell me,
Then I, my thoughts, will dim.
Haste! lest while you're lagging
I may remember him.

"Love's Philosophy"
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever,
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle;--
Why not I with thine?

See! the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower would be forgiven,
If it disdained it's brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;--
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

CLXXIII. "She walks in beauty, like the night"
by Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,—
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Singles Awareness Day

2005-02-13T20:44:00.000-05:00

What's all the hype about? It's just another unofficial holiday that the entertainment industry commercializes until they create cliches that everyone grows to hate with a passion. All the pink, red, and white is about enough to make your eyes pop out and your brains ooze out of your empty eye sockest and ear canals. Now, don't get me wrong, Valentine's Day, in essence, is not a bad holiday at all. It's a chance for couples to take a break from the daily rush of their jobs and lives and take time to eat a quiet, romantic dinner. There's nothing wrong with that. What I don't get is why they have to rub it in the faces of all the single folk out there. It's not cool; it's like bragging "I've found my One and Only. Have you? No? Oh, so sad. Too bad for you...", except they don't even have to open their mouths.

Okay, I'm really not an advocate against the flaunting either because I know if I was not single, I would be subtly flaunting my relationship as well. In previous years, I have cared too much about being single and not being with any one on Valentine's Day, but this year, I don't really mind it so much. I'm pretty content with being single because I'm counting on the fact that when the right one comes along, sparks will fly, and I'll no longer be alone in the cold, cruel world. Not that I am, really. I've got friends, family, stuffed animals... I'll be fine, come tomorrow. It's just sad how these crazy holidays drive people to insanity and even to death. I just wish everyone could see that there's always a light at the dark and damp tunnel, however long it might be.

So, when all the singles and I are sitting on our couches home alone, popping chocolates into our mouths as if they were euphoria-inducing drugs, while watching romantic comedy after romantic comedy wondering why our lives aren't more like the movies with the perfect guy and the perfect relationship, remember that I'm thinking of all you guys and hoping that you'll hang on until you get your perfect Valentine's Day.

Clarity.

2005-02-12T02:04:00.000-05:00

Why is it that in moments like these, while I'm sitting at my computer at 2 am, things about life seem the most clear? Perhaps it's the fatigue that slowly takes over your brain, or the lack of concentration. I have a sneaky feeling that when I read this later today, it's going to sound naive and stupid, but I'm writing it anyway.

Everything seems crystal clear; and there are no problems in this moment. I know it's one of those fleeting moments where in about ten minutes, I'm going to go back to being that apathetic cynic who cares about nothing and no one, but I'm going to make the best of the next ten minutes.

You know you're getting older when you can see how much you've grown and matured in the past two years. The silly things that once worried me no longer pass my mind in the duration of a day, or even a week or a month. When I don't get enough sleep now, it's because I'm trying to live life and not waste a second, where as, previously, I lost sleep thinking about getting a guy and keeping a guy. Everything seems so clear to me now, I don't know how I didn't see it like this before.

Time is a transient being that penetrates our lives; not caring for it seems to be what truly living life is all about. Doing something on a whim and taking chances even when time does not seem to permit them are moments in life that seem to stand out the most. People get so caught up in what they are supposed to do that they often lose sight of what they are not "supposed" to do. When something does not go as planned in everyone's little electronic PDA, they go to great lengths to try and modify it so that it fits into their life's plan. That is no life; life is letting things happen as they should, "roll with the punches", and change your plans as things happen.

Maybe this is too cliche to make any real sense, but I guess, as long as I keep in mind that nothing in life is certain, nothing could ever really go "wrong". My outlook on life would greatly improve, I assume...

Simple.

2005-02-10T22:44:00.000-05:00

I love nothing more than the simple things in life.
I love going crazy with friends and breaking all sorts of conventional unwritten rules.
I love driving around on a sunny Sunday afternoon, watching the sunlight break through the tree branches and fall through the window.
I love laying on the couch, watching snow fall out the window.
I love listening to the rain tapping the roof in the darkness of the night.
I love walking outside when its cold with a hot cup of java in my hands.
I love fresh, creamy pastries from the cafe.
I love putting on jazz music, closing my eyes, and imagining what it would be like to be at the live performace in a dark, smoky cafe.
I love the smell of the ocean, and how you can smell the salt in the air and hear the waves hit the shore.
I love the way balloons hover in midair, the couple hours before it dies.
I love how my ears go deaf right after a concert, and they don't stop ringing for three days.
I love the colors of the sky at six in the morning as I'm waiting at the bus stop.
I love the smell of fresh laundry, new books, and new cars.
I love how my mom smells like coffee after she goes out with her friends to a cafe.
I love how my dad falls asleep sitting up on the couch.
I love when you spend an entire day with someone, and when you go home, you can still smell their scent on your clothes.
I love falling asleep at night to the flickering lights of my favorite movie.
I love waking up to the sun shinging through the window, feeling fully rested.

I love it all.

Behold, Glorious Photologs!

2005-02-08T19:34:00.000-05:00

My new found shiny-thingy: online photologs of New York City (and other cities, but mostly just NYC). Could anything be more ... indulging? I feel like a kid on Christmas Day again. Ever since the death of indie rock (see previous entry), I had been lacking that daily fix of something of novelty. This new discovery of mine has been a blessing among blessings, not to mention that this time around, I actually want to share this new discovery with everyone!

Aside from my already strong infatuation with the city of New York, the pictures that one finds on these photologs are just straight-up interesting and entertaining to look at. Most of the pictures are of the more grungy side of the city, showing the urban decay so rarely portrayed and often neglected. When someone talks of visiting New York City, they usually don't tell you about the faded signs of sunken businesses or rusted and abandoned buildings covered in a rainbow of graffiti. That's what I love about these pictures; they portray the beauty in what normally would be considered dirty or ugly. Not only have these pictures further intrigued me about NYC, they also strenghten my desire to move there. I'm not even sure how I stumbled upon this treasure box of golden pictures, but I'm pretty sure Google contributed much to it. Thank you, Google.

www.satanslaundromat.com : The one that started it all...

Screwed.

2005-02-07T17:34:00.000-05:00

The AIM away message of a fellow student (who will remain anonymous): "my mother is a f*cking a** pscho b*tch who makes my life a living hell".
[It's censored by me...]

Now, class, does anyone see anything wrong with this picture (aside from the bad spelling of "pscho", which should actually be "pshyco")? At the risk of sounding like a stuck-up, perfect and innocent little girl, I don't think I've ever called my mother any of those names even when I was extremely pissed off at her. I guess it just didn't click in my mind that those names could be used. Perhaps, on one special occasion, my dad, because of... a long list of reasons... but, that's the beside the point I'm trying to make. The question presented in and through this typical teenage phrase is: What has happened to our society's family? Summed up in one word: Screwed.

Of course, every family has it's issues and problems; there's no such thing as a perfect family, although I do know a couple of families that come very close to perfection or at least seem to. There are always exceptions to the "norm". I guess the main reason I've never called my mom any profane words is because she hasn't ever shot any towards me either. What one can assume here, in this person's situation, is that curse words are being constantly shot back and forth with no real solution to the problem (I also know this is true because this person has told me first hand). It's always the parent who shoots out the first firebomb curse because the child is too scared to say it first in fear that the parent will turn it against them. Yeah, this is what goes through one's head while fighting with one's parents.

Obviously, I can't do much to help any situation of child vs. parent that doesn't involve me directly. People assume that as long as a child isn't being beaten up physically, then "it's okay", but, in reality, it's always the families that seem fine that have the most problems beneath the surface. It's no wonder this society is heading south and traveling fast. Parents and children at war in their own homes, and what does anyone do about it? What can anyone do about it? Don't want to get their messy lives on our own "clean" hands, right? We already have enough baggage of our own, full of our own mess that we can't seem to really clean out either. Besides, they don't want us getting into their mess either. But then again, why would my aquaintence post such a thing on their public away message? A cry for help? I don't know, really, but it's just a thought.

The Death of Indie Rock

2005-02-06T17:44:00.000-05:00

Indie Rock - short for Independent Rock Music
A genre of music and cult following of younger generation which is striving to be different from pop music followers. Music is often “underground”, not known to popular audiences because of independent record labels. The musical style combines british punk, rock and roll, and heavy metal. (urbandictionary.com)

The Indie Rock movement has attracted many people since it kicked off who knows how long ago. Fortunately for me, I jumped on the train just as it was leaving the station. I was tired of the whole "emo kid" thing since it became so popular and the saying overused and worn out. Screamo was beinging to hurt my ears, R&B, hip-hop, and rap never changed in style, and the whole John Mayer/Jason Mraz/Josh Kelly/Poppy-rocky music was getting old. It was a prime time for a change to something I had never heard before. The discovery of this completely new and undisturbed music genre was, for me, like discovering a whole new world right under my nose. Suddenly, I was thrust into an unending selection of new artists and varieties of music never before heard by my jaded ears. I was a little kid on Christmas morning.

My first Indie Rock band: well, the lines are a bit blurred here because I got into The Shins about a year before I even heard of the genre "Indie Rock", but I was first introduced to the genre of Indie Rock through The Postal Service. Now, this band (which isn't really a band at all because it's just Ben Gibbard...) is the epitome of Indie Rock and good music. Some Indie Rock sucks because the people feel as if they can do whatever they want and stick the genre name to their music, but the Postal Service CD, Give Up, is one of the few CDs that I can listen to straight through and not cringe. The Postal Service led me to Death Cab for Cutie, naturally. I was also introduced to Travis by another friend of mine, but then things slowed down until one fateful day.

I went to visit my former English teacher, and the second I stepped into her classroom, my ears pricked to the sound of the Postal Service emitting from the speakers of her laptop. I almost melted on the spot. We started talking about all the crappy music out there, and about Indie Rock, and before I knew it, I was leaving her room with Rilo Kiley CDs in hand. Over the next couple days, I was introduced to Keane, Elefant, Pete Yorn, American Analog Set, Notwist, and The Sea and Cake. I became a fanatic; obsession overtook me... I was starving for more. Pure Volume provided me with Daphne Loves Derby, the ultimate Indie Rock band: unsigned, unknown. The novelty of being a fan of them made me proud to be a listener of Indie Rock. And then, the dark cloud dawned upon me and my new found love.

"I am thinking it's a sign that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images, and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned..." The second I heard the start of this song while shopping at American Eagle, I knew it was going to be the end of Indie Rock as I had known it. So long, farewell... The next thing I know, Keane is on the radio and at the Nutcracker with all those pop-punk bands like Good Charlotte and New Found Glory. At this point, I was thinking, well, Keane... if they want to become popular, then so be it, but let the other bands stay indie. (A month later, Keane appears on Saturday Night Live. Definitely no longer indie...) Unfortunately, my wish didn't come true.

Driving to a friend's house one Friday night, I was in the car with a friend of mine who shares the same music tastes as I do, and he was flipping through the stations when he came upon "Let Go" by Frou Frou off the Garden State soundtrack. I almost cried. Indie rock died for me that day. The novelty of that precious term that I loved so dearly withered away with one song on the radio. How could Frou Frou possibly make it to the national radio? But then my friend graciously reminded me (and has ever since) that music is not to be kept to yourself; you have to share it with other people.

Despite this true fact, Indie Rock has lost all of it's notoriety and novelty. It's no longer a shiny new discovery that I can hold in my hand and cherish. It's been tainted and the varnish is going dull. Nonetheless, Indie Rock is still good music, just a little less special than before.

Bittersweet

2005-02-05T01:34:00.000-05:00

Alright, so he's not the one. It's a bittersweet feeling, and it feels like it's been a bit of a waste of time. Inspite of this, I know it's better now than later. I know I'm going to be fine. I'll be fine. I'll get up in the morning, and I'll get out of bed. I'll brush my teeth, wash my face and get dressed. I'll eat breakfast, and do what I do every day. Life goes on, and it won't stop for anyone or anything. Every second will pass whether or not I feel well. It doesn't kill you in the end. It feels like it should, but it doesn't.

I'll always have the memories; I'll have that feeling I got everytime I saw him. I'll smell his cologne one day, walking down the street, and I'll remember that night. I'll come across his picture, and I'll remember his craziness. I'll remember the security, the confidence, and the fear he made me feel. I'll see his name, and I'll remember writing our names together to see what it would look like. I'll remember these things, and I'll laugh and want to cry at the same time. I'll hear the songs he loved, and I'll smile and remember those wonderful moments. I'll remember it all.

So, afterall, at the end of the day, he isn't one. And maybe finally getting over him is realizing this and accepting it. Swallowing it whole and not looking back. I'm not going to force it on myself this time; it's happening naturally. I asked for this. I prayed for this so many times. I begged and pleaded with myself, with God, to make this happen. I waited for this day to come. Now that it has, there isn't the joy that I had half expected. It's mostly sorrow and a soft pain that doesn't really hurt; it just makes me sore.

I bumped into something good, something that made me happy and made me feel like I could fly. But, more times than not, good things don't last. I'm not going to keep going with this. Enough is enough. I'm giving it up. I'm giving it in. Turning another page; starting another era. And, as long as I let it sit and stop searching for love, maybe, just maybe, it will creep up on me and take me by surprise for once. Maybe I'll find it again.

Birthday Blues

2005-02-03T22:54:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday To Me... On Tuesday

Man, another year to remember how few friends you have. Another year to realize that you are a complete loser. Another year to think that you've wasted yet another year of your youth. Glorious youth. It's dying away, and there's nothing I can do about it. Every second you haven't lived is a second lost. It's always better to have lived than to have not. Unfortunately, I haven't lived enough and have lost any hope that I will live. Birthdays always open a box of questions that can't ever be answered.

A sweet sixteen to remember, yes. But, in the end, it's just another birthday. It's just another year closer to the day that I die. I will always remember my sister taking me out to my very first "nice" restaurant, and I awkwardly ordering still water because I didn't know what else they had besides wine. I won't forget the beauty the food was presented in, the tender rack of lamb, that duck... The creamy, smooth creme brulee. Yeah. It was a good two hours. All my cares melted away with the first step into that restaurant. Yummy.

And I have my "Asian Mafia" to thank for the attempt at suprising me. Unfortunately, you all forgot a cake, but I forgive you. The peking duck was good though, and the six movies we watched in a period of less than 24 hours...well, I don't think I've ever done that before. Yes, another first. The being teenagers and making prank phone calls; truth or dare; Dance Dance Revolution; ice cream at 2 am... Yeah, being a teenager is fun.

Of course, I also have to thank the two people who lied to me. One who came all the way to my house to suprise me, driving through the snow to get here. And my first round brownie with sixteen Hershey hugs in the shape of a 16. That was a first. And my one balloon that I will cherish forever. The liar gave that to me in a brown paper bag. Brown paper bags are always mysterious. Liars and brown paper bags. Oh yes.

But at the end of the exciting weekend, the several "Happy Bday"s sent to me over AOL Instant Messenger, the even more numerous "Oh, it's your birthday? Happy Birthday!"s at school; at the end of all the excitement, I look back and realize it was only a couple days out of my life. A couple stupid, silly, insignificant days. So, despite the fact that I was treated to a nice dinner, a time to chill with my friends and a couple of suprises, I still don't get it. I'm still as emotionless and joyless as before this weekend. And I still question happiness. I still question life. And I still have the conclusion that Birthday Blues aren't just once-a-year. They are year-round. And there's nothing I can do about it.

So here's to the past sixteen years of apathy, and several more years to come.

Public Service Annoucement: Take a Hint, Please

2005-01-08T22:41:00.000-05:00

I often try my best to get along with people I don't particularly enjoy spending time with. Usually, I find that they are actually pretty interesting people with their own stories and problems. I realize that they are human too, and that they are not as bad as I had previously perceived them to be. Sometimes, we even have normal conversations about common interests. One could learn several aspects of another person's life if one would simply strike up casual conversation.

On the other hand, there are those people in one's life that simply can't take the hint that you really don't feel comfortable talking to them. Perhaps it is a lack of social skills that causes people to persue a conversation despite the numerous hints that drop like atomic bombs. It just happens to be that the people who annoy you the most are also those that happen to be the most oblivious to the fact that, "Yes, everything in my life is fine," and, "No, I don't want to talk to you."

At a party, you are sitting on the couch, taking a break from the circles of conversation going on throughout the room. You're pretty tired and are thinking of leaving soon. As you glance around the room, you see someone who you don't want to talk to walking towards you. What do you do? You and that person have already made eye contact, so you can't just get up and walk away. The closest person to you is three hundred feet away, so you can't feign conversation with anyone. Stuck in a frozen state, you watch as that person glides across the room, making a beeline for the seat next to you. Fate has never been so cruel...

In an awkward attempt to be casual, the person flaps up their hand in a casual wave while saying a "Hey" that sounds more like "Heeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy" as they claim the adjacent couch cushion for their own. You manage to utter a quick "Hi" that sounds more like "I", and you frantically look for something to do: a magazine to read, a cellphone to play with, etc. You're holding your breath, hoping that they captured those first couple of clues that scream, "I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU!" The seconds tick by...

"Soooooooooooooooooooo..." escapes the person's damp mouth as you cringe at the sound of their voice and the wind of their warm breath. Your first impulse is to run, sprint rather, out of the room, and you consider it for a split-second but realize that you should probably give this person a chance. You take a deep breath and wait for them to continue the conversation. In a pitying voice that tries to cushion the blow of the question, you hear, "How is everything?" At this moment, you suddenly realize why you wanted to dart out of the room a second ago, but now you realize that you've lost the chance and now are chained to your seat. You've dug your own grave. Game over. Please insert coin.

You answer the question with a quick, "Good," and start playing with your fingers, avoiding eye contact at all costs. You hope that this time the person will catch yet another hint that was tossed to them. Unfortunately for you, their catching skills aren't quite good enough. "How's your relationship with your dad?" is the next thing you hear. You realize that you had been joking about bad relationships with your parents earlier, and that they must have been listening in. At the sound of that question, your eyes are about to pop out and your brains on the verge of exploding. Another "Good."

With God's mercy, you finally see an outlet. One of your friends has walked over and started a conversation with someone else that you can jump into. You seize the opportunity like a hungry animal when they see easy prey. Thank the Lord in Heaven and all of His saints and angels for saving you. It is freedom like one has never experienced before. You finally get a glimpse of what it is like to be released from jail after several years of imprisonment. You feel like you can fly...

So, really, how does one completely overlook hints that a conversation is not in the cards? There's no way you are going to pour out your heart to someone you don't know about the turmoil of your current life or the trauma of living with your parents. Why do people like that even bother to present deep, emotional questions so bluntly as if they were on the same scale as "What's you're favorite color?"

To sum up, please be considerate of what you ask a person upon approach. Please work on your catching skills and don't persue conversations that just aren't going to happen. It will make all of humanity just a little happier and a bit more comfortable. Thank you for your consideration.

Jogging Memories

2005-01-06T19:31:00.000-05:00

I am infamous for cheating on tests, stealing other people's ideas, and, of course, stealing others words and passing them off as my own. Anyone, who has met me and knows me well, will acuse me, without hesitation, of pilifering their original ideas. I'm just like that, and I can't help it. In Kindergarden, I used to copy my aquaintances' stick figures, line for line, and not have any qualms about turning it into the teacher. I'm still like that. It's like being a kleptomaniac, except I don't steal items, just ideas.

For the past 11 years of my education, I've been pretty lucky in my teachers not suspecting a thing. Usually, if I write one original piece of work, the teachers simply assume the rest of my work is original as well. This little trick of mine has worked ever since...until this year. Unfortunately for me, my English teacher this year just happens to have a very sharp mind. Everything she reads seems to stick to her memory with superglue. My first couple essays, she seemed to not suspect anything, but the most recent essay, a satirical piece, "jogged her memory."

While handing back the essays to the class, she specifically tells me to "see her after class." That phrase is never good, especially when matched with that crazy teacher-glare that vividly reminds you why you never liked her in the first place. After class, I go to her desk, and I ask her what she wanted. Taking my essay, she points to one specific line and goes, "Are these your own words?", with that doubting tone that your mother gives you when she asks if you've done your homework yet. Doing my best to restrain myself from yelling, "How dare you acuse me of plagiarizing!", I simply smile and say, "Why, yes, of course." Her response: "Oh. Just checking. It's just that it 'jogged my memory'."

Why, of course. She's so experienced and taught so many years of English that she must have read that one line before somewhere. I must have stolen it from a writing piece from one of her numerous former students. I'm just that stupid. I'm just that lazy. I'm just that bad.

(Frankly, I'm suprised she even read the thing...)