A Day in the Life.

Art is Unalterable. Wait...

2011-01-06T23:14:00.000-05:00

Okay. Let me just say this: nobody, and I mean nobody, has the right to alter any kind of literature. ~~EVER~~. I mean, what kind of shithead would think changing a timeless work of art would be a good idea? I don’t care if an offensive article is a part of the art, it should not be changed, you hear me?

Let’s discuss this. The use of a “derogatory word” in literature. What, at the time, may have been considered vernacular, is now deemed unsuitable and, apparently, must be changed. Agree or disagree? If you couldn’t guess from the opening, I’m against changing the classics. Juuuuust slightly. I simply cannot fathom the point. The “n-word” has been vulgar and inappropriate since the sixties (if not forever). I personally don’t use this word and cringe a bit when I hear it. Thus, I can comprehend the reasoning for removing this word from the books.

However.

Literature is permanent. One cannot change it (apart from translations) or it is no longer true to its original writing. Changing a word of historical text is like erasing a section of a painting. You just can’t fucking do it.

Luckily, the new version will only have 7,500 books published. Hopefully, this will be the last edited work of art. But I highly doubt it. Meh.

One False Maneuver and BAM! Your life goes to shit.

2010-12-13T01:44:00.000-05:00

Pardon my absence, but alas, it is finals week; the most wonderful time of the year. One more week and I'll be free willy. Until then, stay classy. :)

So I was at Target today. I was helping my mother pick out clothes for my older brother for Christmas. Apparently, he believes that Mr. Morgan Charles Stillman is impeccably sleek and has a magical flair for fashion. … Or maybe he’s lazy and didn’t want to shop for himself… We’ll go with the first choice.

Anyway.

I’m all up in the men’s section, and this girl bumps into me like mad woman. She looks very embarrassed and apologizes for her false maneuver. So I say, “It’s all good, I’m kind of in the way.” She then realizes that it is, indeed, Mr. Morgan Charles Stillman.

“OH MY GAWD, MORGAN? What are you doing here?!”

I’m not entirely sure where this outburst came from. Mostly because I have no fucking clue who she is. “Oh. I’m just shopping. Ya know,” I quietly answer in my awkward “whodafuckisu” voice.

She contunies, “Oh, silly me. Ha, ha. This is Target, afterall. Sorry, I didn’t know who you were at first. It’s been about three years since I’ve seen you.”

Then it hits me. It’s Shelby What’s-Her-Face! But I’ve never seen you before… You’re simply a friend of a friend. And you’re one of those flirtatious highschoolers that make me want to scratch my eye balls our with a teaspoon. “Yeah, me too. Freshman year?”

“Yessssssirrr!” she smiles cutely.

*Awkward pause*

“Well, I hate to end this fantastic conversation, but I have to go find my lost niece. You can never let those things off their leash! MADNESS breaks loose!”

“Oh… Yeah… Ha…”

*Awkward pause*

I chime into the silence, “That was a joke… A bad one… But, as I said, I gotta go”

“Okay, BYE! I’ll text you!””

Aw shit. Why does this always happen to me?

My Excess of Potential.

2010-12-01T22:42:00.000-05:00

The word potential has always perturbed me. It follows me everywhere I go. My whole life, everyone has said that I have "potential." What they're saying is that it is possible that one day I will be good. In a nutshell: You're not good, but maybe one day you will be. Is this a compliment? Should I be glad that I have potential?

Occasionally my teachers will mention someone and say, "She had potential to be so good. But..." But apparently he or she didn't live up to his or her potential? Am I going to be like them and not fully bloom into what my "potential" truly is?

Columbus For the Week.

2010-11-30T23:17:00.000-05:00

I’m staying at an Asian’s house in Columbus, Ohio. It’s awkward because I don’t really know her. I was warned that the “cleanliness [of her house] is questionable.” I’m not sure what that means—all I know is that her house smells weird.

When I got here at 4:15, we started right away with the Sleeping Beauty rehearsals. I know the ballet well, so I don’t really need that much rehearsal. The students at the ballet school here have questionable… placement… But I get paid whether the show looks good or not. I’m just excited to perform this ballet again.

After rehearsal I was sent to go shopping for myself at “The Giant Eagle” to get food for the week. I’m almost positive that I didn’t get enough food. Oh well. Maybe I’ll get skinnier this week with the lack of food.

I’m sleeping in her son’s old room tonight. It seems pretty clean to me… But if I wake up tomorrow with some kind of fatal illness, I’m suing.

Fifty-Seven in a Forty.

2010-11-30T01:37:00.003-05:00

One thing I absolutely cannot stand are people that refuse to admit that they're wrong. Let me exemplify my anger in a short narrative concerning one of the saddest days of my life.

Wow I'm glad I I finally got away from [insert party monster friend's name here] tonight. I love her, but she's way too hardcore for me. What the fuck? It's two forty-eight AM? No wonder there's no one on the road--well except for this random car that's riding my tail. Grrr, why doesn't he just pass me? There are two lanes for a reason!

*FLASHING LIGHTS*

"shitgoddamnfuckingwhoredickshitfacefuckingbitchshit!" (direct quote)

I believe that one of the worst feelings in the world is when you're sitting in your car right after you've been stopped by a cop. You're just waiting for the evil man in the uniform to give you a little slip that will cost you more than your crime is genuinely worth.

-----"Where are you coming from this evening?" He asked sternly.
"My friends house..."
-----"Do you know how fast you were going?"
"Uhhhh.... Fifty?"
-----"I clocked you at fifty-seven."
I want to say, That's because you were riding my fucking tail, bitchweasel! But instead, I give a simply, "Ohhh..."
-----"The speed limit here is forty."
Seeing the speed limit sign infront of me I peep in, "...Are you sure?"
-----"Of course I'm sure! Sir, can I see your diver's license and registration?"
I fumble to get my wallet out of my back pocket and get my license out. This took me like thirty seconds, of course, because I need it quickly. Next I reach into my glove compartment and grab a paper. Shyly I hand it to him asking, "Is this the right paper?" He grabs it and walks back to his car. He must be thinking, What a n00b.

I know for a freaking FACT that the speed limit on this road is forty-five. I drive on this road at least twice everyday.

-----He takes his time walking back at a leisurely pace, "You have [this much time] to call [this number] and they'll tell you how much you owe for your ticket. You were going seventeen over!"
I launch into the conversation, "Do you see the sign up there? It most definitely says '45mph.'"
-----"Yes, but you just passed a sign that says '40mph.'"
fucking liar.
I finish with, "Well you're wrong, but whatever."

-.-

Good thing he was a police officer or we would have gotten into an argument.

Blame It On the Alcohol.

2010-11-26T01:04:00.002-05:00

I don't understand the obsession with alcohol. What's so great about it?

I was at a party with [insert party monster friend's name here] the other day and there was alcohol GALOR! Everyone was drunk off their asses, except me (designated driver for the win!). I'm just sitting there at this party laughing at how completely idiotic everyone looks. Have you ever seen someone in their progression to drunkenness? They start out absolutely normal for the first few drinks, then, rather rapidly, they've gone into lala land where all the shitheads go.

Don't get me wrong--I honestly could care less if you like alcohol, I just don't understand the point. A few weeks ago I asked [insert pothead friend's name here] why he liked to drink and smoke shit. Apparently it "enhances your perception and lets you live from a different point of view." I'm not entirely sure why that's enjoyable, but I suppose it could be interesting to see what he's talking about. But why endanger your liver for a change in perception?

I guess that's why people start drinking in the first place--because someone else handed them a beer and told them too. I would love to think that humanity can think for itself, but I would be lying to myself if I attempted to believe that.

My Sexy Adventure.

2010-11-23T00:32:00.001-05:00

It's nice not having to be busy every second of everyday. Since I don't have ballet this week I have nothing to do from ten to five everyday. So my girlfriend and I decided to hang out. We went out for lunch and, because we're dancers, we ate the entire restaurant. We are fat. So, being piggies, we walked to the mall. It took like a half hour to get there, but it was really fun. I ended up buying The Breakfast Club (She's never seen it =-O ) and also my oldest sister's Christmas present, which is completely irrelevant. So we walked back, I took a picture of her by a "Curve Ahead" sign (which implied that she's curvy), I struck a sexy couture pose on a street sign, and got a picture riding a dolphin. Don't worry about it.

Today I realized how awesome we are together. Like, I don't even know. We used to be a jagged jig-saw puzzle. But we've put the pieces together and now they fit flawlessly--even the pieces that don't belong--we've jammed them into place and now it's as if they were supposed to be there the whole time. It's funny how once you've been together for so long, you can't even imagine life without them.

Why is a Raven Like a Writing Desk?

2010-11-15T16:15:00.000-05:00

I sometimes wonder if the science we study in school is actually real or if it’s all made up. Maybe it’s simply a coincidence that all the theories work out. I mean, nothing is ever truly proven. They even teach you this in your basic science class. What if everything we’ve ever learned is actually completely false? There is no way to know for sure, but for now, I will be forced to study questionable concepts that may or may not be legitimate.

This riddle used to irk me quite a bit. “Why is a raven like a writing desk? Why is a raven like a writing desk? WHY IS A RAVEN LIKE A WRITING DESK?” After years of analysis, I accepted that it doesn’t have to have an answer because, well, most things in this world have no definite answer.

Dear Dad.

2010-11-15T03:04:00.000-05:00

I can distinctly remember the day that my Dad was diagnosed with esophageal cancer. I had just finished dance class when I skipped joyfully to the car, only to have my world crushed. It was devastating. Being eleven years old didn’t help much either. This was certainly a time in which I wanted to be home with my father. I had contemplated skipping and even quitting dance classes all together. At dance I was miserable because I knew that when I returned home, I would have to face the nauseating truth.

One day, I honestly told my bed-ridden father that I wanted to quit dance to be with him. He paused momentary, possibly to imagine the best possible answer. Finally, he looked at me with his deeply sullen eyes and humbly inquired, “Why would you want to do that? I’ve seen you dance. I’ve seen the passion ignite within you when you hit the stage. A timid boy becomes a sensational performer when you’re out there. I know you love dance; show the fire burning in you. When I’m gone, don’t let my absence deter you, utilize it—put the emotions into your dancing. When I’m gone… Be happy. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. I will do whatever it takes to get you where you want to be.”

My father had always been a submissive wise man. He didn’t say much, but when he spoke, everyone listened. I followed his advice. After he died, I began to dance even harder than before. I gathered my emotions and brought them with me. I used them to my advantage to make me jump higher, spin faster, and feel the space filled with my thoughts. When I was finished, I left them on the dance floor for anyone to interpret.

Although this incident was a fucking nightmare, it has helped my dancing immensely. Overcoming this obstacle has given me the strength to do almost anything. When I think of him and his kindness, a fire lights within me, causing me to push for what I want. He has inspired the passion within me, and I believe that with passion, anything is possible.

I wouldn’t really say that I’m completely “fine” now. I don’t think anyone can simply dismiss something like that. But it’s strange how you do “get over” things. You never forget, but you just keep living. After awhile, life seems livable again, but you never, ever, forget…

I Hate Driving and Shopping.

2010-11-13T01:13:00.002-05:00

I am an extremely impatient person. I hate when anything is slow pace. That's why driving and shopping are frustrating tasks for me.

I don't like to admit it, but I'm a speed demon when it comes to driving. I mean, it's not that I find pleasure in going fast, I just like to get places as quickly as possible. The problem is, however, slow drivers are always in the way. It's one thing to go the speed limit, but to go under the speed limit? Seriously? I simply cannot understand why other drivers would even consider doing this.

I'm also a slight perfectionist. I get somewhat annoyed if things aren’t perfect. I loathe people who don't use their turn signal. I am mentally incapable of fathoming the difficulties some individuals find in flipping a fucking lever. It blows my mind. I cannot force anyone to use their turn signal, so the only way to overcome this obstacle is to scream at the driver--this always makes me feel better even though he or she can't hear me.

When shopping, I typically run into the store, grab what I need, and leave within ten minutes. I'm what people call a speed-shopper (Actually, I don't anyone says that...). What's frustrating about shopping is the typically incompetent workers. They either ask if you need help when you don't, or you can't find them when you do. It's almost as if they all sneak into the back room because they know you need them. They're probably all back there watching me search for them on the security camera and laughing.

:|

I hate grocery stores.

The Pros and Cons on Daylight Savings Time.

2010-11-08T11:03:00.003-05:00

So obviously, we all set the time back an hour last Sunday. This is still a relatively new concept for Indiana because, until recently, we didn't have daylight savings time. I personally don't like it at all--just another inconvenience that I have to deal with twice a year.

I got up today thinking it would be dark and cold outside. But, alas, I walk outside and get fucking blinded by the sun. I had to take off my scarf because it wasn't cold either (It's a big deal to me at 7:30 in the morning when I'm all angsty). This change is trying to mess with my head, I know it! I don't like it.

I figured that because it was so bright out that people could see past their windshield now and would, thus, be able to actually drive the speed limit. Boy, was I wrong. They must have been blinded too, because traffic was slower than previously.

The worst part is that it gets dark at freakin' five o'clock! I mean, sure, it's lighter in the morning, but who really cares? I don't give a shit if it's light or dark--either way the morning sucks... hard. I'd prefer to get out of school and still be able to at least see the sun for minute. Is that so much to ask for?

The only good thing that comes from daylight savings time is the extra hour of sleep in the fall; but it's counteracted by the reduction of sleep in the spring. Daylight savings time is an epic failure.

In the Park, After Dark; You Were There, So Beware.

2010-11-07T23:15:00.001-05:00

So I was chillin' with a friend today because it's "[insert friend name here] Sunday." Being hoodlum teenagers, we decided to go to the park, even though it was pitch black out (damn you daylight savings time). So we started to drive around and we realized, "Wow, it's dark!" We see a sketchy car, we freak out, I almost drive into a river, I do a U-y, I floor-it, we go to McDonalds. Ya know, the usual. Because we are ignorant, irresponsible teenagers, we go back. Of course. However we take a different route through the park and see two sketchy cars parked next to each other. Any one could guess this could only mean one of three things: they're doing drugs, having sex, or making bombs. [Insert friend name here] apparently sees a man standing by the road (damn liar), we drive through the forrest part of the park, hoping not to get raped, and then we leave and go to [insert friend of friend's name here]'s house.

First of all I would like to point out how random this event was. But that's Generation Y for you. But I wanted to discuss why exactly we went there the second time--we wanted to experience the sensation of fear. I learned about fear in my psychology class a few weeks ago, and apparently fear is only pleasureable when the individual realizes that there is no actual chance of them being harmed; this is why haunted houses and horror movies are popular. I guess [insert name here] and I didn't think we would actually get harmed because we did, infact, experience an adrenaline rush, a thrill.

Honestly, the only time I have ever truly feared for my life is when I, being the vacuous teenager I am, went to get gas at two in the morning with two friends. I pulled up to the first gas station I saw. It was obviously closed (the lights were all off), so I don't even know why I went up to it. There was this creepy, old man just standing there, leaning against his "rape van." I paused out of stupefaction. I saw him reaching into his pocket with this ghastly look on his face... I instantly floored it, almost crashing into a gas tank, while all three of us screamed. Next, no joke, he sprinted to his car and started following us. I was going 80 in a 40 zone--he was too, no shit. We were freaking out! The worst part was that my gas tank was past empty. I turned my lights out an sped up. We eventually lost him.

A read a book by Charles Darwin. I can really relate to the description of fear that he wrote of in The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals:

"Fear is often preceded by astonishment, and is so far akin to it, that both lead to the senses of sight and hearing being instantly aroused. In both cases the eyes and mouth are widely opened, and the eyebrows raised. The frightened man at first stands like a statue motionless and breathless, or crouches down as if instinctively to escape observation. The heart beats quickly and violently, so that it palpitates or knocks against the ribs... That the skin is much affected under the sense of great fear, we see in the marvelous manner in which perspiration immediately exudes from it... The hairs also on the skin stand erect; and the superficial muscles shiver. In connection with the disturbed action of the heart, the breathing is hurried. The salivary glands act imperfectly; the mouth becomes dry, and is often opened and shut" (p. 255, 290).

It's funny--when I watch a horror movie I always think to myself, "Why wouldn't they call the cops, or something?" But having a little taste of real fear, I now realize that your mind almost completely shuts down. You can't think logically when your body isn't functioning logically.

Friends From the Past.

2010-11-06T00:31:00.000-04:00

Old friends--people you were once close to but for some reason grew apart. It's sad, really. Sometimes they move away, sometimes you fight and stop talking, and sometimes you simply just grow apart. One of my best friends from middle school, whom I no longer speak to, now works at my favorite ice-cream place. It's kind of awkward to see her there. I mean, nothing bad happened between us, we never officially stopped being friends... It just sort of happened. I always smile and ask her how it's going. She always replies with "good." Then I leave. I wish it could be the way it used to be. Maybe next time I'll start an actual conversation.

Today I met up with an old dance friend. She's two years older than me so she left for college while I was still in high school. She came back for this weekend so we decided to see a musical today. The musical sucked. But that is completely irrelevant. So we went to Casa's after the show and we just ate and talked. It was so much fun to catch up with her and to talk as if she hadn't ever left. I just wish she was home more. She's a cool cat.

Finals week kills.

2010-04-21T17:08:00.001-04:00

This is just going to be a quick post because I have to go to my tap classes soon.

I just wanted to say that I'm still alive; the problem is that I've been busy with school. I only have seven more days of school left until I'm finished with high school! Throughout the summer I will hopefully be making more blog posts, so you can look forward to that.

Taking the blame.

2010-04-12T23:30:00.000-04:00

Ah- the first day back from break. For some odd reason I always have mountains of energy on the first day. I'm not entirely sure why this happiness is not a regular habit. It could be a lack of sleep. Or possibly it's just teenage angst.

I use that phrase often: teenage angst. I utilize it's powers of solving every mystery or emotional issue that a teen may have. I even use it to describe an action I have done; I blame my behavior and problems on this imaginary motif entitled teenage angst. My logic is impractical and clearly faulty for this is simply an excuse for inappropriate behavior.

Why do we, as imperfect humans, blame our issues on completely inrelatable objects or ideas? Why are we unable to take full responsibility of our own actions. Daily I hear the "lack of sleep" excuse or the "too busy" excuse. But, technically, who is to fault for these excuses? Ourselves.

As a child I had blamed my older brother for an uncountable number of things I did. I remember specifically a time when I had put soap in my sister's cup of water. I heard a scream from across the house. Merely moments after I could see my mother tromping across the living towards me and my brother. I lied. He took the blame.

An appropriate time for a Shoe bomb?

2010-04-12T00:39:00.001-04:00

Today was my massive traveling day. I left the hotel in Los Angeles at 5:45am, then I arrived home in Indiana at 9:00pm. This was obviously a pretty intense day. However, through all of the madness of running through airports and boarding planes, I couldn't help but chortle at the silly, almost outrageous, things that people do.

My first observation is the size of peoples' "carry-ons." I brought my bookbag with my homework in it and my laptop on board as my carry-ons. In my view, carry-ons should consists of a bag of items you wish to use as entertainment on the plane ride, and a bag of items that you believe may get damaged if sent off on the luggage transporter. This, however, is apparently a false view. Most of the travelers brought huge suitcases onto the flight; they were waaayyyy over the size limit. It took them thirty-five minutes, after everyone had boarded, to cram every last suitcase into the over-head compartments. This baffled my mind. If you can afford plane tickets, then why not simply pay the twenty-five dollar fine to transport your luggage?

Another instance is when the flight from Los Angeles was about to land in Chicago: the gentleman sitting next to me decided that it was appropriate to mess around with his shoe. ... as if there were a bomb in it...

Additionally, always, without fail, there is someone who will turn on their cell phone during flight. Are people truly that addicted that they can't last a few hours without their cell phone?

These are not rants of anger, but more amazement at the quirky behavior that occurs on airplanes.

Lurking round the brim.

2010-04-11T01:41:00.001-04:00

Alas, Spring Break is over. However, I can't say that I'm upset. I love a break every now and then, but it's nice to get back to the real world. In ten hours I'll be on my four hour flight back home. Home. Whenever I hear that word a sort of warm and comforting feeling comes across me both physically and mentally.

Immediately I have mental images of sitting on our red living room sofa, sipping hot cocoa with the fire burning. All of my family are there. Well, my brother, two sisters, and mother. It's Christmas Eve. We're sharing memories of each other and laughing at all of the absurdities that have come to pass. When it's my turn to speak, I look down into my cup; blowing the marshmellows round the brim hoping to discover a funny story lurking behind one of them. But, of course, I find nothing. Disappointed, I pass my turn and listen to the next.

It's funny what memories are recalled often. This occurrence described above has had absolutely no impact on my life. But it is one of my most thought of memories. Perhaps our memories amount to more than just a simple remembrance of some obscure event. Maybe they are more than just a trip of the human mind?

"A moment lasts all of a second, but the memory lives on forever."